Prairie M. Faul: Keep Your Knives Sharp, There are Men in This World

Prairie M. Faul: Keep Your Knives Sharp, There are Men in This World

Keep Your Knives Sharp, There are Men in This World



I piss in the sink at work

Wait for flowers to grow

Out of my pockets


My mothers mother

Was born in sugarcane


Lived as a whetstone

Let the pigs sleep outside


My mothers daughter

Took blade to pigs throat


Salted & stirred the whorls

that came out



Look at this thing

A cast iron child

Nipping from steel


Too much copper blood

Too little paper in vein


The butcher hog learns calm

Fed fragment of oat & word


When hammer cracks open

There is no piss reply


No shit consecration

Or flowers to splay





What grows from tapered light

Fills a fabric spliced


Drips from hand to hand

Pours down the sink


Here we dress our limbs in oil

A caul-fat shawl for our heads


Here larder is hands wanting

Cradling the fields without yield


Here heat holds in skin for years

Mother to mother to mother to mother


A house built of whetstone

An heirloom of sweating thorns



My daughters name

Will be soundless


A handle blessed outside

A hand freely holding


May she tend magnolias

When the trees finally fall


Let the knees we bent

Be repurposed prayer


In the dead of heat

I see her knotless


Drifting out to sea


Eyes like lotus leaves, no not even like


I grow, buttressed against

Window pane, along the surface

I smudge imprints

of my upper lip--imprints

From my teeth & the space

Between them--Think about asking

Questions, I don't ask you questions

I don't have answers to, I can tell you

Every living thing grows

In the direction of light--I spread

Myself out, along transparent pane

I spread my legs out, in the sun

I look so honest but at night we wait


Prairie M. Faul is a flagrant transsexual and the author/designer of Burnt Sugarcane (GloWorm Press). Her work can be found in TAGVVERK, Apogee, Reality Beach, Cosmonauts Ave. and elsewhere. She is running from something.