J.M.R., Drawer

I was looking for batteries. That's the whole

story: the drawer stuck, gave, and there—

among the rubber bands and a dead remote control—

was the knife. I've moved it twice. I swear

I never opened anything for it.

Just packed it into MISC or JUNK and carried

it along. The blade was folded shut

the way I'd left it. I stood there and studied

the handle under the drawer light: J. M. R.

Three letters worn into the metal, clear

enough to read. I never looked before.

Four years with this thing. Funny what appears

when you're not looking for it.

I put it back.

Found the batteries somewhere else.