A quiet, everyday act—sharpening a
kitchen knife.
Within this simple, repetitive motion
emerge concentration, dialogue, and the light and shadow of civilization
itself. Iron has sustained human life, advanced agriculture and industry, and
at the same time enabled warfare. Through the tactile certainty of sharpening a
blade, this poem reexamines human endeavor as a whole. The sharpened edge
contrasts with the self that can no longer be honed. What begins as a calm
moment in the kitchen deepens into a meditation on civilization.
Sharpening
Sharpen the knife.
Soak the finishing whetstone with water.
Set the blade against it.
Feeling a slight resistance, press the edge
forward.
The stone wears down, bleeding a
reddish-brown hue.
Move from tip to edge to heel.
Sharpen a double-edged knife.
At the right moment, turn it and hone the
reverse side.
Bent over in the kitchen, the work
continues.
Sharpening always settles the mind.
With single-minded focus, press blade to
stone.
Let your thoughts wander—and you’ll cut yourself in an instant.
Sharpening is a dialogue with tempered
steel.
The culture of iron runs deep in human
survival.
It fostered farming and industry, and
victories in war.
I sharpened four knives.
Their edges regained their bite.
Too late to hone this body grown thick with
age.
The whetstone cracks, and words too lose
their sharpness.