The knife edge separates the theory from the flesh
Or is it the bone? You knew how to marinate
the big hunk of meat so that when it was time,
it would slide toward the knife
as though it craved that moment of separation
the great divide between the potential and the actual
But this is too abstract
and unintentionally comic.
I prefer to think of the action of spice, herb, and salt
breaking down fibers
approaching a condition we call tender.
Perhaps its just another way I express nostalgia
smell of hickory or pinon in the smoker,
pungent aroma of drippings hitting fire,
taste of springwater when thirsting
Sun, setting behind the mountains,
snow-fresh air, crisp and sharp.
The knife cuts many ways
when I remember the afternoons
purely invented -- a knife I apply to myself,
remembering days never spent but imagined, at our grill.