She cut herself with a kitchen knife
And yet no drop of blood did I see.
And the parted flesh was lily white;
Bare nerve and bone that did not bleed.
And she quickly turned to where I stood,
But I switched my gaze before her glance
And felt stern eyes that searched and probed
My face, which bore a mask-like trance.

She seemed relieved that I had not seen,
Or so she thought, and then turned back
And wrapped the hand in linen clean,
And went about her daily work.
She gave no notice of her blundering
And asked about the morrows’ weather.
I stood there dumb in quiet wondering,
Then said, perhaps it will be better.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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