Play with Daggers

Holly Woodward

 

When is a man like a piece of wood?

When he's made into a ruler.

Those who hate you will stab you in the back. Those you love will pierce you through the breast.

On a night like this, death dreamed up life. Nothing comes of Nothing comes of Nothing, who had three daughters, Anything, Something, and Nothingness.

Truth lies like a sword. And words are the fool's gold of the mind. Who can fathom the reason of thunder? Who can love the loneliness of truth?

Madness alone talks sense.

I have no way and therefore want no eyes. (I stumbled when I saw.) A walking fire, hearth lost.

Ask not what I know, comrade wolf. Love's a silent knife. Death is nobody's fool.

The one holy water flows from her eyes. Let me rest on pillows of knives, sleep to death. I buried my heart in her chest. You do wrong to take me out of the grave.

Cross not a ghost.


Holly Woodward would like to thank Rafi Zabor—a great teacher. These two short pieces owe debts to King Lear and Lady Macbeth. More of Holly's writing can be found online. Eros and Psyche is posted at www.archipelago.org, S & M, Behind Closed Doors and Subtext are at www.thedrunkenboat.com. Holly works as a visiting writer in the schools in the New York area. She spent a year as a doctoral fellow at Moscow University and served as writer in residence at Saint Albans, Washington National Cathedral.

Issue 5


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