Bone Handled Knives

 

Mum’s bone handled knives

are now laying in my cutlery drawer.

For more than 50 years,

she washed them three times each day,

the handles not touching the steaming water

for fear they would discolour.

a prized wedding present.

 

And now she wouldn’t recognize them

nor care if they were plunged

into boiling water with bleach.

 

My sons drop these knives

into the sink

without a thought for their heritage

or of what they are made.

 

I cannot.

I, too, wash and dip

but never submerge.

Not for their value

but from habit instilled by Mum

and respect.

That is their value.

 

And one day I, too,

will not recognize them or care

when my grandchildren

wash them in whatever manner

deemed appropriate in such a future.

 

 

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