|
Wood Begs
by Kristina WoodhillMake love to me
It is my right
as surely as you
chop me down
to cut me up
with lumbering
machinery
devised to rend
my heart from me
I bend to you
I acquiesce
my strengths to you
and calmly
cede you
lengths of me
my crashing roar
bestilled
knowing that I shared
the rich and life-filled air
you breathe
I burn for you
One final flame
before the ash
or fences framed
or tables set
from generations
left to grow
from mine
I make
this last request
Take off your gloves
Your touch I crave
on one remaining
chiseled chunk
turned lovingly
my spirits shape revealed
in slow release
each ring glides round
your fingers smooth
our symbiosis now complete
my essence is set free
01/28/2006
Author's Note: My friend turns wooden bowls and small saucer shapes - all exquisite. He speaks of how carefully he lets the wood reveal itself, into whatever shape it may take. His wooden gifts are treasured by all. From each piece he says he learns something new and only when he feels he has learned all he can from that piece does he let it go.
Posted on 01/28/2006
Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 01/29/06 at 12:21 AM Great fun to read Kris...Charlie |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 01/29/06 at 04:38 AM I promise I didn't look at the authors note before finishing this....and all I could think about, as I was reading, was that this feels like being at a wood lathe again....nice! |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 01/31/06 at 07:04 PM This is delightful - I've never worked with wood as intimately as this, and it gave me a wonderful perspective! |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 02/01/06 at 02:56 PM Awesome work of art, this is! The Author's Note snet even more thrill in the rereading. I love this poem, Kristina! ***** |
|
