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, too, wash and dip
but never submerge.
Not for their value
but from habit instilled by Mum
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.