Eve Dineva


Disambiguation

My eight abandoned lives are staring back at me

from the perfectly clean porcelain plate

that’s placed right in front of me.

Their bright green eyes are so big,

I can see myself reflected, and

the pupils dilate as they continue stalking me -

patiently observing and waiting

for the next move I am going to make.

I pick up the knife from the gold cutlery set,

(I always go for the shiny sharp objects first)

then the fork finds its place in the fist

I clench tightly around its metallic body

so that I can stab all those pretty edges in the soft piece

of the last life, I have left.

The blade sinks in deep as I cut a larger part of my choice,

with the clear, single understanding that

we can never simply have a taste of what’s been served

and then change our minds mid-meal, or decide we could

stitch the severed limbs back together.

I chew on my resolve and judgment

when their sour taste spills, then fills my entire mouth.

I try to swallow, but I choke on all the thoughts and events

that would follow right after.

I cough up hairs and my choice digs its long nails

in the back of my throat

to drag its claws and rip my insides all the way down

until it reaches my stomach to settle in there forever.

I always felt like we had a certain number of failed attempts allowed.

In my case, they are nine – it’s my secret limit,

equivalent to the number of lives a cat has,

the symbol of finality and completion.

It’s the highest single-digit from which I fall

into the dark pit, but this time I land on my back.

I’m bleeding open with the decision I just made-

right here and now, at this table

with the painful realization that

I have no more lives to bet.