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Poetry
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| First Cry | |
| By Talisker | ||||||||||
| 02 February 2007 | ||||||||||
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A clumsy poem, if a poem at all. But again, one I needed to write. Even now, 30 years later, my parents do not know the truth. I selected the knife from the cutlery drawer, It was the second smallest of a full set mum had got from the milkman. She had collected some tokens I think. The brand name was “Skyline”. This one had a dagger shaped blade, straight on top, not curved like the peeler, like a small cook’s knife, six inches long, modern, shiny, cold, keen-edged. The plastic handle felt perfect in my little fist, snug, sure. I heard the noises of ordinary life from the adjacent living room, Trying to draw me back from the brink, of what? Even at that moment I did not know. In some semi-automatic action I raised the knife to shoulder height, with vice-gripped jaw, and eyes tight shut, I struck with all my puny might. I remember no pain at all, nor blood, just a paralysis of my right leg. I stumbled into the living room, with the knife deep embedded in my thigh. “My God! How did you do that? Stupid boy!” “I tripped on the kitchen rug” I lied “I was peeling an orange”. The knife was pulled from my leg. A large sticking plaster was applied. No ambulance, no panic, a failure. I was put to bed. My leg convulsed, And pumped a little blood from under the elastoplast. I barely slept. And in the morning, Everyone had gone to school and work. I was alone and in agony. My upper leg had discoloured from hip to knee, blood trapped beneath the skin marbled pink and red. The damaged muscle flexed involuntarily Sending arrows of pain to my fevered brain I cried. When dad came in from his milk round, He reluctantly took me to the doctor’s surgery. I remember in the waiting room, a kind lady; “how did you manage that?” “I stabbed myself” She slid further along the seat, away from me. The Asian doctor took one look and said “I don’t understand, perhaps a blood vessel is severed, he must go to hospital immediately. I will phone ahead” This is all I really remember. Many days of pain, at home alone, getting good at telling lies, to hide my shame. Oli 02/02/07
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