The Carpenter

Part One

Trying to plane a piece
of red oak, I thought
it can be done with long hard swipes;
but, against the grain?
Bearing down and pushing hard
I labored with each cut
to smooth the edge,
perspiring. I was determined.

Cutting too deep, the blade dug in,
my sweat soaked hand
slipped from the handle;
striking my palm on
the edge of the board.

I yelled – threw the tool,
hard against the wall.
clutching my wrist
I cursed at the pain.
A long jagged splinter
was embedded in the
center of my hand.

It was bloody and swelling
purple around the wound.
My fingers grew numb
while pain ripped up my arm.
My heart throbbed, I grit my teeth
and groaned, I pulled out the splinter
as quickly as I could.
But, part of it remained
In my hand; I couldn’t
get it all.


Part Two

In time my hand healed;
feeling replaced numbness.
I can move my fingers again
and feel the coarseness,
feel the curve
of a piece of timber, as I
run my hand down it’s length
even though a part of that
splinter remains, when I
bend it just right,
I can feel it deep down
nudging against a nerve,
an occasional reminder…

And there is a scar
in the middle of my palm
a dark circle in the skin
that replaced a deep hole
and the blood.


Part Three

A carpenter I knew,
haven’t spoke with for some time;
stopped to look in on me
or, so I thought.
He put me to work on
a project he said
was aspiring for me.
He told me how he knew
I could do it. The job
wasn’t too big. He handed
me my plane.

I showed him my hand,
I described what had happened,
I was unsure.
He deftly smiled,
his eyes exude confidence.
I had forgot; he was standing
quietly behind me
on that day I described.

But, no worry
he would help.
He could steady the board,
he could mark
all my cuts.

I was still doubtful as he
revealed what he wanted
depicting a plan,
drawing shapes in
the air with his hands -
I was stunned when I noticed;
ugly dark scars on both of
his palms – right through
- to the back of his hands.