By Karen George
Terse edge of celery you split
with incisors. Crunch of crisp
chicken skin, how the salt/fat
taste releases. You trail
the soft plump of thumb
along fingernails to catch
snags you file down. Satisfying
sound of clipping edges off
overgrown nails. Moon’s
curved rim stark against
night sky. O, to pierce
water’s surface, soft
membrane where it meets
air. To send out ripples from
your touch. Tickle of grass
blades against tender skin
of your feet. How his whiskers
rasp your face when you kiss.
The live edge of music
as it unfolds, enters you.
The sharp lip of paper slashes
you like an unkind word
from family or friend.
How loved ones breach
your dreams. The way
memory heaves waves
of pain and pleasure.
Karen George, author of the poetry collections Swim Your Way Back (2014), A Map and One Year (2018), Where Wind Tastes Like Pears (2021), and Caught in the Trembling Net (2024), won Slippery Elm’s 2022 Poetry Contest, and her award-winning short story collection, How We Fracture, was released by Minerva Rising Press in January 2024. Her poetry appears in The Ekphrastic Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Lily Poetry Review, and Poet Lore. Her website is https://karenlgeorge.blogspot.com/
