The difference between you and me
is that you cut off a chicken’s head
without blinking.
No – the difference is that you blink
once when the axe meets wood,
while my mouth opens in awe.
Or is it that you sit with one
strong arm raised,
heel resting on a stool,
while both my feet are planted hard
on the hardwood floor.

The stroke of this knife,
the smell of onions,
the tap of that faucet
bring me back to then
and now – gazing at this stool
without a foot…

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