I chased my sister with a knife
once when we were little.
Dad sent me to my room saying,
“I don’t know if I can ever trust you.”
Like I was actually going to hurt her
or had a chance of catching her.
I just wanted to scare her
like she scared me
Waiting in dark corners
to jump out and say “Boo.”
So many times she scared me
until finally I snapped,
Chased her around the dining table
she screaming, me deadly silent,
Clutching the knife in my hand
like a club or a talisman.
Not even a steak knife or bread
knife or paring knife,
But an ordinary table knife
for buttering a roll.
And yet… I can almost recall
the heat of the moment,
The rage and shame and
helplessness, the fear…
Perhaps it was best that Dad
intervened before I drew blood.
Although, I don’t think she said
“Boo” much after that.