A Cutter’s Escape

It was her way of keeping the doctor away
Once, twice,
sometimes three or four--
each season. She called it her comfort zone.

She handpicked the ripest one
from the bushel by its haft
and ran it under water till she could see
distortion in the fluid producing utensil.

She slowly rolled her right sleeve
to her thift shop T-shirt
past her ball in socket
as the edged apparatus performed the first notch.
Strategically placed on her wrought iron desk,
three Expression tissues,
absorbed the metallic canals
that seeped from her elbow
once, twice,
sometimes three or four--
each season,
until the seasons no longer changed.



Panefull Memories

Watching out the hazy window
at the rusted red wagon,
I hope to see you with Oshkosh jeans,
braided brown pigtails tied off with pink bows,
mud pie cheeks, and grass decorated knees.

Watching out the dusky window
at the 10 speed mountain bike,
I visualize you with Reebok shoes,
brown pony-tailed hair in a baseball cap,
dirt covered hands, and scraped up elbows.

Watching out the rain streaked window
at your beat up Mercury,
I imagine you with your girlfriends,
wavy brown hair held back by “boy catching shades”,
sunburned cheeks, and a tiny tank top.

Watching out the sun drenched window
at the Chrysler pulling up,
I recognize my little girl
with brown hair matted by small, curious hands
and a diaper bag strapped to her back.


Sarah Demers is a 27 year old middle school teacher in New Hampshire.