Knife Angel, by Kate Young

Knife Angel
 
A mouthpiece, head inclined,
hands open in amnesty,
my wings rise, a golden halo
framing a feathered loss.
 
100,000 used knives,
blunted, crime-washed clean
inscribed with lives taken,
breath exhumed on blades
 
the coloured handles,
a sparkle of sequins
dancing on the mundane
rage of kitchen drama
 
the trimming, skimming
paring of skin from bone
words caught in walls
like a flutter of despair.
 
I see the alley-gangs,
slithers of silver in pockets,
anger edgy, serrated even
vengeful in killing,
 
I hear the lost souls,
dislocated in urban silence
screaming for a voice,
machete whittling at limbs.
 
I am the messenger,
a sorrowful magpie
collector of cleaver,
scalpel, dagger,
 
your pain and mine welded.
Why melt me down
or fillet the truth?
Read the blades and learn.

Kate Young

Kate Young lives in Kent with her husband and has been passionate about poetry and literature since childhood. Over the last few years she has returned to writing and has had success with poems published in webzines in Britain and internationally. She is a regular reader of Ekphrastic Review and her work has appeared in response to some of the challenges. Kate is now busy editing her work and setting up her website. Find her on Twitter at @kateyoung12poet.