Postcard from the Knife-Thrower’s Wife by Alex Stolis

Postcard from the Knife-Thrower’s Wife

August 10 – Hamilton, Ontario

Today I felt the rain before it came. It was
a premonition. A quickening. A flash of light
from nowhere. Once, when I was not more
than ten, I almost drowned. Could feel my
body sinking. I closed my eyes tight as if
that very act would cause me to float back
to the surface. I spread my arms winglike
hoping to become an angel. When I finally
came up for air what felt like minutes had
been mere seconds. I laughed, half choked
on a mouthful of water and within moments
splashed ashore. Now, I feel the drops fall
one by one by one. I know without looking
there is a bird in flight. Can feel the beat of
it’s heart. Can feel it bank towards the edge
of the sky. Now, the drops fall two by three
by four by five. You hum softly to yourself,
peel an orange, suck the pith from under
your nail; that sky a perfect shade of blue.

by Alex Stolis

Editor’s Note: This poem’s short lines and dramatic, surreal imagery conveys the emotional fracturing of the speaker with aplomb. This poem is even more interesting when read with its companion piece, Postcard from the Knife Thrower.