on my shelf next to my bullet lipstick is a swiss army knife

it has a bottle opener, a screwdriver, a thing that takes out corks, in case i feel posh enough to buy wine that costs more than a fiver; it also has a convenient nail file,

and a blade shorter than my shortest pair of heels sharper than the knives in my kitchen i keep it on my vanity, sometimes picking it up instead of my eyeliner pen and feeling its weight in my hand

“i want you to take this with you on a night out, and keep it in your bag if you have lectures until after dark.” my father says at the back of my head. “i have a gift for you” the man who in the same breath gave his dainty daughter a pretty necklace and a knife

happy graduation. don’t go out without it. also, a flashlight in case of emergencies, and a portable phone charger, don’t leave home without it so i know that he misses me when i am out of the country, in his own way, worrying about how i’ll be getting about in that infuriating man-way of not saying it

it’s next to a bottle of perfume he gave me my brother asked when he’ll be getting a knife of his own, and my father said “you don’t need one to get about town alone.”