Medea cleans the blade

You were born inside the knife
Evidence of love made bone

You were born inside the knife
Carved of a long stretch of losing,

You were born inside the knife
Only ever half mine and always
Heavy, too close to the earth

I would spit-shine the coronet again,
Place poison on the twisted metal again,
Jump scare the ram from the pot again,
Curl my hands into claws again,
Drag myself inside out, exile my mind,
turn it towards the green-blue sea,
the white sun, the frothed water on the edge of the cliff