Before The Kill Poem by Melanie Emikohe

If I would hear the breathing
of an angry man and his knife,
when that deadly sharp
he shall flick to my neck,
a prelude before the swipe,

in a few seconds, I know
I must be dead and forget
the earth and be forgotten;
nothing else even matter
when it shall be done

and my thoughts wouldn't be
of myself or a pity
that I'd be dead
the acres of corns I'd leave behind;

but the calmness of your face
somewhere, brewing coffee,
folding my khakis,
tending the kids,
and thinking I'd be home
by six.