by Judy Cabito
She could have used something else but she used the knife. I clean it: rinse it, wipe it, rinse it, wipe it, then put it in the drawer, the second one down... for later. There are things to do, people to call, notes to write. Her note reads: "Because I love..." I spin like a top, like a bit of broken glass inside a kaleidoscope, free falling, landing hard. I take the pen and write: me too, then open the drawer, the second one down, and retrieve the knife.
6S
Judy Cabito lives and writes in Incline Village, Nevada. She grew up steps from the Puget Sound, and calls herself a Westcoaster (if there is such a thing). Published in several online and print publications, she has an analytical interest in micro-fiction.
