Testing the mettle

Ther was no man, for peril, dorste hym touche. A Sheffeld thwitel baar he in his hose.
The Reeves Tale, Canterbury Tales, Chaucer.

Such a knife, a real Et Tu Brute number. Bone handled, incisive. Decades of marriage
had whetted the blade to feather lean. Anniversaries marked in metal. Such durability,
flexibility. No base Plate here, for Dad, nothing but the best. Sheffield-sharp, that knife
carved and cut filigree fine, ever pristine, stainless. Always Mum wielded and whittled
with panache. Never a slice or nick. No sudden gore in our kitchen. Perched on a stool
beside her I observed as maribu-muled she coaxed the potatoes from their skins. Like
a serpent surrendering, the peel twisted and ravelled beneath the certainty of the blade.
I bracelet my arms with the coiling brown/ cream/ brown peelings, never realising that
other mothers had special tools to deal with potatoes. Her’s was The Knife to Rule All.
Deep in drawers it whispered danger without warning. Hidden among innocents, soup
spoons envied its power. Ever poised on its knife edge, it bided its time, crucible cured.
Silent, keen for unwary hands, the knife whiled the days to sharp shadows.

Finola Scott writes to unravel  the world. Trembling Earth, her recent pamphlet, considers the Climate Crisis. Her poems are widely published including The Irish Pages Press, NWS, Lighthouse. More at FB Finola Scott Poems and https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poet/finola-scott