Breakfast Blood

BREAKFAST BLOOD
By TC, August 2026

I can't tell
Where it came from.
Just the shrill metal taste
From cheek to tongue,
Leaking under
An eye socket
Left skillfully unbruised
At breakfast.

Did it slip, gnawed
From the food,
From the sausage,
Burning like the
Centuries
Of wildfire
That you came from?

Did the salty taste
Make you mistake it for tears
(Through the tears)
As they fell in the
Reflections
Glaring off the cutlery?

Unsalted butter
Spread on dry toast
By the hand
That used to rock the cradle -

There's nothing wrong
With a butter knife
In
Any
Other
Hands.

Wasn't it just
The sharpness of the bread
Cooked for too long
Ravaging the roof of your mouth?

No, maybe you realized
In her split second of
Unclenched fists -
As fleeting as the blood
Cooked away
From your breakfast -

That her palms pooled up
Indelible stains
That only went away
For her
When you did.