Akiva Savett

Splinters

Dad’s gonna boil a needle,
poke your hand until it bleeds clean.

Lisa asks if I want to count stars after dinner.
I am bored with it
because our street is so bright.
it’s always eight.
unless we make our hands into visors
and look straight up.
Lisa says isn’t that praying?

a tree will grow out of your hand.
I imagine the weight of the seasons.
so he warms up a needle,
wipes my palm with alcohol,
digs my skin.

that night Lisa puts my palm
to her lips,
blows where the tree was uprooted.
so I kiss her on the cheek.
she stands up and walks home.
I count six stars with squinting.
there’s too much light to see
so far back.


Akiva Savett’s poetry has been collected in the chapbook, Preservation published by Moonbow Books and available online here. His poetry has also appeared in the journals Orange Room Review, Kerem, Gobbet, Poetry Quarterly, Page & Spine, and Red River Review among others. He would love a Rice Krispy Treat right now in fact.

 … return to Issue 8.1 Table of Contents.