The Edge

The girl at the bus stop laughed

and it was a jagged blade

cutting through her friend’s new coat.

I knew that sound—

it used to live in my throat.

I remembered Sarah in the stalls,

the way her breath hitched

behind the locked metal door.

I thought I was being quick,

a sharp girl with a tongue like a whip.

The juice leaked from her lunch bag,

staining her white sneakers.

I stood in the hall

holding the match

and wondering why the room was so dark.