summer afternoons

as you stand at the kitchen
counter, dicing celery,
peppers and shrimp,
you look out the window.
the children are lost
in their skips and runs,
their game of tag,
circling the courtyard
like bees. the world is
full of honey at times
like these. the days are
long and warm.
their lives stretch before
them like rainbows without
ends. you listen to their
voices, hardly noticing
the blood in the sink
from the careless knife
that has cut your skin.