In my two childhoods
in this life
I have had a jacknife.
To carve and whittle
with great care
and carry everywhere.
When I ran around
in short pants
jacknife was my best friend:
He could cut a stick
off a tree,
and carve things for me:
A willow whistle
in the spring,
and on birthdays, cut string.
As I grew older
my delight
was a utility knife
with spoons and scissors
and every part
for a handy man’s wishing heart.
But now whittling tree
‘s good for me:
I’m way past utility.
[Revised October 8]
