One man bought me a set of knives. Pink & yellow blades. To make me a good woman. Kitchen-sharp. He liked apple pie, the butter of my thigh. I sliced my webbed toes instead. Left the waddle, learned to run. Another man bought me a stone for sharpening the blades. This fable is real as stainless steel. He liked his tomatoes square and crisp. Only a woodcutter wields an ax of rust, he said. Blunt woman lost in the forest. There is always a cottage nearby: a huntsman, a dagger, my liver intact. I plunge my tongue into the next boar, the next pheasant—each meal my last.
Geula Geurts is the author of The Beginnings of Fire (CutBank Books, 2021). Recent work can be seen in Pleiades, Juked, Raleigh Review and Radar Poetry. She works as a literary agent in Jerusalem.