To the Knife in an Eight-Year-Old’s Backpack

That morning, he must have held your smooth handle
like the leg of a worn stuffed animal before
I saw him swinging from a scaffolding,
a small rhinestone shining from his left ear
when he asked if it was his day to read with me.

I didn’t know, as we spoke, that you were there,
shifting with his weight as he climbed those rusting bars.
You who belonged in your tray beside the smaller knives.
You who sprang from the dark, offering your blade:
an empty page, you said, a flash as sharp as moonlight.

*Christine Poreba is a recent graduate of the MFA Program at the University of Florida. Currently a newly married resident of Tallahassee, FL, she continues to write while teaching English as a Second Language to adults. Honors include 2nd place in the 2004 Atlantic Monthly Student Writing Contest and a 1st Place Hackney Literary Award from Southern Birmingham College.