Everywhere. At breakfast he’s taken one
from behind the bran in the cabinet
then poked holes in her over-easies
from three feet away.
She’s found blades
growing warm balanced
across lampshades; sparkling
like water in the shower stall;
in the dresser drawer, smoother
curves than she’s had for years,
he tells her.
One evening she sliced her toe
sliding between the covers
then dreamed all night
about her dog plunging
under the bed after a rolling ball.
He tells her everyone has to
have a hobby. She gives in
and every day while he’s at work
swallows swords like stiff drinks,
the sound of metal honing her teeth,
her body become a razor edge
which one day will greet him with open arms.
(This poem originally appeared in Pikestaff Forum (defunct), #7, Spring, 1986, print only. Not available online.)
David Henson
Saragun Springs 
David
Happy 40th birthday to the poem!
Like all well done things there is not a speck of dust to be found on it. The “edges” pass between and through them. Dangerous and concealed.
I am glad to see this brought back to the light; especially when it originally appeared long before this forum existed. When everything was printed on dead trees.
Leila
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Thanks, Leila, for your nice comment and for giving this piece a second life… without killing any trees in the process!
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A fascinating and thuoght provoking piece and it just shows that good stuff is always good stuff no matter how long it has existed. dd
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Thank you, Diane. I think imagery never goes out of style.
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Powerful images. I can hear and taste the swords.
“then dreamed all night
about her dog plunging
under the bed after a rolling ball.”
Such a ring of truth about dreams. I could envision a dream like this.
Great poem!
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Thanks so much! Glad you like the poem, and I hope you don’t have bad dreams about sharp objects!
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Dear David
Great poem! Like a fusion of Emily D. and Franz K. I also like to use Apollinaire’s term “surrealism” when it truly applies, as it does here. (He originally wanted to call it “supernaturalism” and later changed it to “surrealism.”)
At the beginning of this lyric, the husband seems like the one who’s bad news. By the end of the piece, the tides have turned and it’s the wife who seems like she’s ten times more dangerous. This “turn” at the end of the poem is in itself brilliant, to say (almost) nothing of the fabulous imagery that comes before. Freudian dream interpretation could have a ball with this poem.
Also very much worth pointing out again that after forty years the poem is just as fresh as it was forty years ago. Almost everything written forty years ago seems like it was written forty years ago (Ronnie Rayguns was president!), so to remain this fresh in this way (and why that is so) is truly something which should be pondered upon by any and all even half-serious creative writers!
Dale
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Thanks Dale. I didn’t know that about supernaturalism / surrealism, but then I usually learn something from your comments. You and Leila are making the public launch of Saragun Springs seem effortless though I’m sure it’s taken a ton of work. (Something I know Diane can attest to!)
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PS
Great pic of you and the beautiful poodle!
D
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Our beautiful Annabelle … forever in our hearts.
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