Jack-Knife of Many Trades
He rapped it on the heel of his hand, then
ran the blade around the edge to scrape the cake,
opened the pouch and inhaled the sweetness of
Red Virginia ribbons, “notes of tea and toast.”
He filled the bowl by pinches, tamped it,
clamped it between his teeth, lit, drew, exhaled
memories that swirled in soft clouds
around his head and melted in the air.
He grasped the de-barked branch of pine
and pulled and pushed the blade.
Fragrant chips and ribbons curled
around his feet as he worked out
life’s knots and carved his heart
into flowers and vines.
He stopped to dig a sliver from
his palm, remembering the scars
in the autumn of his years.
In the stillness,
Prompted by this challenge at Tweetspeak Poetry.