Swiss army knife
Everyone has been issued a Swiss army knife
but lately I’ve discovered there’s one blade
most of my comrades never use,
deeming it useless or superfluous.
It’s the only blade I ever use –
the blade for which I, perhaps incorrectly,
assume the knife was made – the one that probes,
pares down, whittles away; the one that digs;
challenges; the one that spoon feeds.
Persistent use has kept my blade shiny, honed
while most of the others never trouble
to pry theirs open. This is not a boast . . .
or if it is, it’s an oddly forlorn, collateral one.
I simply move about most everywhere,
not knowing any other way to move,
out of loneliness, fear, curiosity, discontent,
blade in hand and observe how it interacts
with the world and what it uncovers.
O child of God, the Beloved supplies
each lover uniquely with the tools required.