cleaning your teeth with a knife

The good news is the sun still rose even though every
news broadcast said it wouldn’t. Your name didn’t feel
like a paper weight on my chest today. I continued to
breathe even when my lungs were weak from all the
running. I held a knife by its handle and didn’t think
about touching the blade. The birds did not fall from
the sky and the apocalypse got moved to a later date.
My teeth didn’t grind up the words I needed. I got the
blue paint off my hands. I said clean and we both knew
what it meant. You said the fire burned out and I really
was happy for you. I watched you walk away and let
you get so small that it was easier to find perspective.
You had a mouthful of apologies and for the first time
I didn’t want any of them. Without you, I remember
the magic of my own hands. The good news is dying
stars are always the most beautiful.
—  GOOD NEWS, angelea l.