Watching the long nail bite
Into the wood, and watching
The wood accept it so painfully,
Then sanding the wound, smoothing
The puncture crater and filling it
Then sanding again, and softly stroking
The satin paint over it as if nothing happened.
Now joined, the two pieces have new meaning.
They didn't ask for it, but there it is.
A shelf four and a half feet off the floor.
From the scrap heap to a purpose.
But it began with that piecing, that pain
That attack on things as they were,
An assault on the status quo.
If I were that piece of wood I would have
Hidden further down in the heap, she said.
I would have tried to be useless appearing.
In the pile of wood scrap, she said, I would
Not have stood out. It would have been
Hard to find me. I would have seen to that.
She smiled. Her lips seemed soft and her
Face radiant. What a shame that would be,
I thought. Down there in the depths of
Useless forgotten scraps, that smile,
That determination. That humor and all those
Thoughts of how things are and should be.
We were looking at all the scrap wood
Still in the pile.
They look happy, she said.
I took her hand, turned off the light and
We walked outside. We were both squinting
Into the sunset when she said,
Let's stay home tonight.

04/11/2008

Posted on 05/03/2008
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