Cut

as if anger could be a kind of vocation for some women.

i watched her peel potatoes in the ensuing silence. her fingers
tight against the flesh, white in solidarity. i counted:
one, two, three, four squares of sunlight against the back
wall— thought, lucency breathes in and out & the flowers
graying on the sill behind her swayed their recognition.

*Glass, Irony & God by Anne Carson