Cutting Edge

A pause.

A breath.

A moment before the final commitment.

No, not marriage. That can be undone.

This?

No. Even the mistake will be amplified, if pressure is applied improperly.

But freezing up is almost as bad, and nothing will ever change,

A state of rough unfinished tension, never resolved.

Just as bad?

Worse, I think.

I stare at the brass stick, the ugly lump of wax on the end,

A frosted crystal trapped in it.

Gross.

But the beauty trapped within…

If I ever move.

Carefully, I attach the brass to the socket.

A jointed arm, clutching a strange treasure.

Did I ever let that breath out?

Nope.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

All right, I can do this.

Grinding wheel is spinning, waiting.

I check the angles, I check the orientation.

Pauses can freeze, did you know that?

I wonder if that’s how a crystal is formed, a frozen pause….

It’s time.

One, two, three,

Dip, grind, grind, grind,

Seven, eight, nine,

Lift, rotate, click, set.

Dip, two, three, four…

The count is rhythmic, regular, serene.

It soothes my fears, lets me breathe in time

To the dance of the grind.

Slow, careful, equal.

Up, rotate, click, down.

A pavane of pain, if gems had nerves,

But leads to a scintillance of structure,

A refraction of radiance.

A series of ever-smaller circles,

Finer grit, tighter grind,

Pause, check, wipe,

Lighter touch,

Slower count.

Facet, culet, girdle, table,

Pulling in bright rays from all around

Releasing it in a burst of photons

Carefully gathered,

Gently harvested.

With satisfaction, I burn away the ugly wax,

Setting the gem free from its dull prison.

And now, dear customer,

You know the story

Of how your purchase

Was given the gift of light.