Breaker by Loukia Borrell

You picked me because I was
the best. The best you ever had.
I turned you on, you said, but wouldn’t
Turn on you. I could keep a secret,
Especially a good one, like ours.
I know you won’t tell, you said.
Too much integrity. Too chicken.

But you don’t know me, so don’t think that.
I have decapitated harmless snakes.
Put a garden hoe to their necks and
Pushed down through their spines with
All my weight, called them sons of bitches
Until I found my way through their bones,
Breaking them all, until the hoe arrived
Straight to the ground, under their
Departing bodies. I am a breaker.

It may have been enough to turn
My back on them, flick them away,
But I wanted to kill them, split them in two,
When just before my arrival they were
Outstretched and lazy, luxuriating
under the shade of my fig trees.

Now they all know who I am,
And one day, you will, too.

Loukia Borrell is a first-generation American. She was born in Toledo, Ohio, to Greek-Cypriot immigrants and was raised in Virginia. She has a journalism degree from Elon University in North Carolina and is a former newspaper reporter. Her poetry has appeared in literary journals in the United States and United Kingdom, including Neuro Logical, London Grip, Poetry Life and Times and elsewhere. She is married and has three adult children. You can find her being ridiculous on Twitter @LoukiaBorrell or see more writing on her website,