Davide Trame
Just Blood
It happens, opening a tin,
it’s just an instant and you cut
the tip of your forefinger,
the sharp edge rips in
and it’s at once a gash
and your dark red soul spills.
It was very ready just underneath,
now it seems to escape so eagerly,
flooding in rivulets from within,
keen on staining the world
expanding into any casual Beyond.
it has happened so quickly,
the sign maybe of how we pass,
in a blink of an eye
your astral body is
smeared everywhere,
table, chair, a trail on the stairs,
you sense the thin
precarious boundaries
of your being
until you find a way to staunch at last
what is after all just a tiny opening,
maybe less than an inch of a chink.
Touching it you feel the shine
of your most hidden nakedness,
your fundamental liquid nothingness
over the bones.
By then you try to smile
at how it goes unsaid,
the fragility of life,
and feel glad enough
discovering you can still write,
although the plaster on your forefinger
softens the touch too much
and distances you from each key.
How easily the world can recede,
only the old lesson remains,
the only choice on this side:
stay in silence, listen to the river within,
to the closeness of its far cry.
Davide Trame is Italian teacher of English living in Venice. His poetry collection Make It Last was published in January by Lapwing Publications, Belfast.