by Lisa St. John

Perhaps I left
it in the violet
dusk, near the drowsy hum
of the bees’ nest.

Perhaps I let it fall
from my hands
at the river’s
edge.

Perhaps it is in
the belly 
of the wolf—
the alpha

who watches me
at night as I sharpen
the knife,
pare away

at loss;
whittling 
it down,
down.

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Lisa St. John is a writer living in upstate New York. Her chapbook, Ponderings, is available on her website at lisachristinastjohn.com. Her first full-length book of poetry, Swallowing Stones, is forthcoming from Kelsay Day Books. Lisa has published her poetry in journals such as The Poet’s Billow, Light, Entropy Magazine, The Poetry Distillery, Poets Reading the News, and Chronogram Magazine. Lisa’s nonfiction work has been published in Grief Digest and Sleet Magazine.