The Depth of the Blade
Jennifer Choi

the dissection begins—
a slaughtered cow laid bare.
the man stands at the table,
his face flushed red.
for a moment,
his eyes close.
there is a reverence to this act.

at the blade’s tip, light gathers,
a flash of fear refracted.
the edge slices a diagonal path,
cutting through flesh & air alike.
there is a void in its wake,
a life severed by its passing.
sometimes, the man’s gaze
catches on the blade’s shine,
leaving his eyes as raw as the wound.

where the blade has passed,
it does not return.
what stirs the silence in the gash,
what pierces it to its end,
is the abyss at the blade’s tip.

within that abyss lies the blade’s sigil,
each mark an unspoken sentence.
sentences never delayed,
they lodge deep in the heart,
etched as epitaphs read in barcodes.

the man spills no blood of his own,
yet separates bone from flesh with precision.
the bones, exposed, shine white,
dazzling, as if pulling sunlight
into their hollow depths.
from the emptiness of the form they once held,
shadows stretch long & thin.

the crimson flesh still trembles,
its sinews rising like chords of tension.
sinews pull taut,
muscles swell,
& in their hidden depths lies the strength
that once moved this body.

at last, the abyss of the blade
delivers the cow’s life to completion.