GENTLE KNIFE

My father held my hand
To exact the tiny wooden
dagger wedge in tight
His hand a tight vice
His voice low
And still.

A moment of pain
And the pressure was gone-
A measure of tenderness
Somehow transferred
A silver tear
Removed in an instant.

Mom was rough and harsh though
Shaking the knife blade
Or the belt if I yelled
I'd rather suffer longer
Rather than face
Her hands.

~Dave~
28 Oct 04