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LULU’S ROCKER

It came to me
from an old woman
tired and distracted

Five mad upholsterers, or maybe just one
and the others simply applying
fabric upon fabric

I tore it down to see what I’d find
A treasure? an old broken down chair?

Patterned fabric layers, and cotton padding, and
a thousand tacks

I came upon the most amazing creature

Solid cherry, horribly scarred
with a steam bent
spiral turned
woven back!

A spray of spiral turnings just below

a shaped seat of thick cherrywood

An evil fabric craftsman
had sawn off orbed finials at arms’ ends
at back posts
A spiral turning was missing.

The rocker needed taking apart
parts made
to be put back together.

It sits in my living room
unfinished
a comfy ride
a warm welcome sight to see.

BANDSAW

Neglect, years of it
I needed the tool but
first it needed tearing down

Rusted bolts, WD40, old
sodden sawdust embedded
in any crack worth finding.

I slowly worked my way down
through the bones of it
Blade off, bearings freed
I took each little bit and slide
to the wire wheel

And put it all back together.

‘Never cross your hands!’
I implored my woodworking students
back in the day.
Nothing but grief and torn flesh
will come of it.

But old age, sloppiness,
a certain forgetfulness,
a rusty old blade the only one I had.

Anger and disgust my main emotions
My wife drove me to the emergency room

THE WORKBENCH

Ah the mistakes made
mistakes corrected

slivers of wood
turning tools laid out
spindles sanded
old glue removed

Nails hated
veneers inlaid
C scrolls carved
an old pattern maker’s vise

Table tops joined
rusted tools sanded cleaned oiled
a view out the back window
of fields, white fences, a growing oak
as I stand patiently mixing glues

A ringtail cat scampers by, chasing wild turkeys.

Aged gobs of spilled glue,
awkwardly dripped
screw nails handtools
sandpaper gathering at one end

Hours and hours and years and years
of the craftsman’s workbench.