After the Kill

The knife is heavy, long and sharp,
Bright with red against its green handle.
He rinses it lovingly under the tap,
Cold water washing the red to pastel pink
And then to clean before he slides it
Into its canvas sheath.
“This knife is best for skinning,” he says,
“It took no time at all with that buck.”
I look away, anywhere but at that carbon steel.
“Was it new when you bought it?” I ask, not wanting to know the answer.
Oh no,” he said. “This knife was used. I had one just like it in Nam. Great knife.”
I do not ask what he used his knife for when he was in that far-off jungle.
I do not want to know. Some things a wife just does not ask, or need to know.


About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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One Response to After the Kill

  1. Libby says:

    Oh, I need to know the before and after stories!

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