Sharpening
They all know, the little ones,
because they’ve all tried it, what happens to the pencils when you push them, blunted end first, into the hole and turn them against the blade and yet today I feel it all over again, the amazement offered by one small boy bringing me the finger he had shorn, the nail shredded, blood dark and oozing from the tiny wound. Did you put your finger in the sharpener? Did you catch it against the blade? I ask these questions without thinking, tearing open a band-aid. He’s six, the number of perfection.
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