It's not hard to harbour anger,
like a ship with knotted ropes
to some deep dock inside you.
So you drink because that ship
needs water to hold it up, to keep
the wood afloat and ready to sail.
And you cut things, anything,
many things- the poultry for dinner,
a small hole in the couch that you blame
on the cat or 3 inch scar on your wrist.
If your lucky, you learn to cut the ropes
that anchor the boat, stop drinking
until the sea becomes a desert,
the vessel fixed in sand, blanched
bones, rib bones, see-through
as you could be- forgiving, sober
and knifeless.
