Its handle was polished antler,
a thick curved blade
sheathed in deer hide
and tasseled. I lifted it from
the bedside drawer
and held it reverently.
Never used to hunt, it was
the tool that gutted
an animal. Still
it was termed for hunting,
as if gutting were an act
of the kill. I knew it was imbued
with special meaning; a gift
from someone loved,
but who I could not
remember. We had
no other weapons in our home,
only this one
appointed to practical purpose,
and I had become
such a practical purpose
its edge could be
appointed to me, so
I stole its potential away
and gave it to a trusted friend
before issuing divorce.
My husband never went
to find it; all his threats to kill me,
empty. Instead,
he limped away like a wounded
soldier with paperwork designed
to disembowel the slain.
The Hunting Knife
Kimberly Ann Priest is the author of tether & lung (Texas Review Press), Floralia (Unsolicited Press), and Slaughter the One Bird (Sundress Publications). An assistant professor of first-year writing at Michigan State University, her work has appeared in Beloit Poetry Journal, Copper Nickel, and Birmingham Poetry Review.