Kathleen Kirk

K a t h l e e n  K i r k

next

Paperless Cuts 

Even now, I stand back and watch

the unfolding of this heartless letter.

The letter is an image and cannot unfold

cleanly, in linear time and on lined

yellow paper, in a red scrawl. I can’t

rush forward and snatch it from her,

crumple it up, toss it in the fire to spare

her, let her scream at me and pummel

my back as I watch it burn. I cannot

spare her.

The unwritten letter will come,

and she will read it with bleeding fingers.