Leaving a Mark

Her stained hands wear beet juice like blood as her dark fingers glide the thin silver steel blade around one cardinal globe after anotherIt is difficult to distinguish the difference between skin and fleshbut she does it adeptlyI ask, how can you do that so easily?She responds, I just doHusks break free and blotch the butcher block crimsonI ask, doesn’t it scare you to use something so big?No she respondsHer large butcher knife hovers and dances over the submissive orb as it turnsI ask, what’s a period?She nicks her finger winces, drops the beet and grabs a towelI tell her, you should use a peelerShe says, it’s a sorry tool that blames its masterI reply, I think you got that backwardsShe slams the knife on the board and with a quick flash of turning tide,she looks me in the eye and says Girl, you know what I meanI look down quickly pick up a beet peel and dye my fingertips red