A knife abandoned the counter and dove into her foot.
An artery, a shooting star, a pulse of life beating live into red.
Her blood spilled and clotted. Gouts of red berries clotted over the floor.
Her shoe filled with blood. The blood clotted into mice.
The doctor filled the wound with lidocaine and something to congeal the pulse of fire.
Did you know that all wounds eventually stop.
Mom's took 3 stitches.
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Is it wrong to play "This piggy went to market" on her little bloody feet?
This little piggy went home.
This little piggy had knife throwing lessons.
This little piggy had none.
This little piggy bled wee, wee, wee, wee
All the way home.
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