Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Amy Beeder

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Don’t aim too straight but don’t throw fancy either;
just spit for luck and trust the flash of sun
to warm the blade before it hits the dirt.
You’d know the antler-handle in your sleep
as you know its lightning shape in air: that glint
of sickle so much sharper having slipped
your grasp — and landing better, always,
knee-tossed, pitched from heel. But none of that
until there’s thaw enough to hold your point:
you want to see it stick, then come out clean.
Miss the circle and a knife’s no gift
but in this season hoops won’t do nor marbles;
in spring the force that binds all blistered hands
invites you: come stand and draw your blade.
Close

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Don’t aim too straight but don’t throw fancy either;
just spit for luck and trust the flash of sun
to warm the blade before it hits the dirt.
You’d know the antler-handle in your sleep
as you know its lightning shape in air: that glint
of sickle so much sharper having slipped
your grasp — and landing better, always,
knee-tossed, pitched from heel. But none of that
until there’s thaw enough to hold your point:
you want to see it stick, then come out clean.
Miss the circle and a knife’s no gift
but in this season hoops won’t do nor marbles;
in spring the force that binds all blistered hands
invites you: come stand and draw your blade.

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Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère