Proper Grip

I run my fingers over the edges and dips of the knife in my pocket.

It is 6:30am and it is November. The sun has yet to offer peace of mind and the street lamp timers still believe the sun rises at 6am. 

I arrange the knife so I can open it quickly. I place my thumb on the small metal knob, to expedite the exposure of the blade. I slowly nudge the blade to make sure I have the proper grip.

I snap it shut. I want it to stay that way. 

I know I didn't always feel like a car-alarm on the 4th of July but I don't remember what it means to enjoy a walk in the park alone.

How lucky am I, though, to enjoy the safety of sunlight? How lucky am I, to know that if I ever use this knife, no one will doubt it was in self-defense? 

-Ashlee Christensen

PoetryJulia NusbaumComment