I want to write a hymn
to an avocado, to the way
my fingers curl in muscle-memory
after setting down the knife.
To the solid heart
past the mountains.
I was told
to leave the knife there
at the scene of the crime.
Even now I can’t bring my arm
far enough back to pull it out.
Lodged in the spine,
curving round toward the ribs.
A clean slice, worthy of a surgical theater
or a hymn sung under my breath.
Hannah Kroonblawd has sailed the lakes of Minnesota, taught middle schoolers in China, and is currently an MFA candidate at Oregon State University. Her poems can be found in or are forthcoming from The Saint Paul Almanac, Rust+Moth, Bear Review, and The Chattahoochee Review.
First Class 