my grandmother wielded a kitchen knife
a veteran one
had killed its share of produce
gutted fish and miscellaneous
farm animals

for us grandchildren
that knife sliced with precision
a fraction of a fraction of a degree
our oranges in six
Venice gondolas in fire and gold

my own oranges cut squarely
straight down and across
halved and quartered
I couldn't figure else

now that knife lives in my hands
reincarnated in upmarket steel alloys

suddenly my kids eat oranges
sliced slantwise into sixths

the mathematical precision
of a zen master samurai