How shall I know?
It is necessary for my world view,
for my understanding of the
essential nature of man,
so that a chair may be set for
happiness
within my soul.
Was it the knife or the spoon?
We can dispense with the fork,
that came later,
an effeminate device imported from
Venice,
a decadence or a refinement,
merely for keeping the hands
clean.
But it’s the hands which worry me.
Was it the knife or the spoon?
Was it some shard of flint,
the flaked edge dark with the
blood of sacrifice,
wet with the urge to kill and
sharp with lust,
cold for power?
Or was it a curve of hollowed
bone,
or horn, translucent,
warm to the hand and smooth with
love,
cupping care to the helpless
child,
and dripping healing blood and
honey down a gentle throat?
How shall I know?
I must know which came first,
which was conceived, instinctive a priori, in the heart of man:
was it the knife or the spoon?
(November,
1986)
