Poetry of Issue #8        Page 78

Pencil Sharpener

Hidden beneath the cluttered spill
of a stationary drawer, I saw you
in your camouflage grey, surrounded
by mini-staplers, post-it notes, tacks
and paper-clips fallen out of their box.
I picked you out from the crowd,
a finger-sized, razor-bladed thimble
attached to a see-through plastic well
of curl-toed shavings, manicured with lead.
You were the one I needed to make a point,
to sharpen the meaning of my words.
You were the one I could depend on,
nestled in the nub of my hand, free
to let my other hand turn like a spindle,
hoping to weave straw into gold.

  Kim Waters