Of Sentimental Value

Just a knife
she said
seeing only
the vulgar plastic of its blue handle
its slim serrated blade.

Not seeing
our first sunlit
together day
under your Italian sky
with bread and cheese
autumnal peaches
warm red wine
wine and peaches glowing
with the salty sweetness
of ur new love,
shopping in Standa
for a knife
to fashion our future.

Just a knife;
but now a symbol
of when out lives
were intertwined
and your smoke swirled
around our youth
fragrant with coffee
icing sugar sweet
like paastries from Motta,
our certainty
lapped with
olive oil and sun.

Now I slice onions
with our knife
under chillier skies.

Sylvia Goodman