That first good kitchen knife I bought.
It is mine – it is not the kitchen knife I used in my mother’s kitchen
That one my mother bought.
This knife that will give me the ability to say:
Son, be careful, it’s sharp. This was my first knife,
The first knife I bought when I first moved out on my own.
When I thought my rent payment would be late –
When my friend had to remind me,
The mental frenzy that followed:
Having to write the check twice because I couldn’t spell anymore.
The relief when it came through on time.
This table that I bought.
This table, for my apartment, in my living room.
This table that will gather nicks, dings, scratches –
Nicks, and dings, and scratches made by my friends, by me.
The flash of wrath that struck me
When one of my students called me by my first name.
My growing recipe book.
The airline ticket I bought to visit my parents for Christmas,
The airline ticket “home” –
Where is home?
The weird flashbacks to “childhood” that I’ve been having recently:
My high school sweetheart,
After-school middle school fun and trauma,