First Blade

My grandmother, patient, kind,

Showed me how to peel a carrot, rind

By careful rind, a simple chore.

She placed a knife upon the floor

Beside the sink, a silver gleam.

It felt like waking from a dream

To something sharp, a sudden truth.

I was a careless, younger youth.

She gave it to me, small and bright,

And showed me how to hold it right.

My thumb against the cool steel edge,

A silent, formidable pledge.

I saw its power, keen and deep,

The secrets that a blade could keep.

Not just for food, or tasks so neat,

But to divide, to make complete

A cut. A line. A final space.

A knowledge settling on my face.