Hello sawdust.
I'm back.
Scent of sap,
taste of tannin,
tickle of fine grit,
after rehab pain,
through every portal
you jolt my brain.
Powder of sun ray,
powder of fog's drip,
powder of soil thrust
through roots to the sky,
hot breath of the forest
after long illness
you complete my healing.
Such a feeling!
Sing to me the rhythm of craft.
Guide my fingers, the work will flow.
Sing, sawdust.
Hello!
Note: First published in Snapdragon: A Journal of Healing.
YOU ARE READING
Construction Zone
PoetryThere's dirt under my fingernails, sawdust in my hair. I'm proud to say I hammer nails. Install toilets. Hang drywall. Welcome to the construction zone. Note: I've had to "unpublish" a few poems from this collection because they are going to appear...
