Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts


by Kimberly Povloski

you covet a man’s pocket-knife
the blade he cradles like a song in his hand
the faculty of it to hurt stars into dark shapes
disperse light like clouds of silverfish

you covet its sleep
coiled into pearl, elk antler
quiet bone

the crooked smile that flickers open, demure
and the safety of a jaw locked tight