I have a friend who knows carpentry.
She is handy with awl and adz,
Lumber and level.
Her shop is heady with the scents of fresh wood
Stain and paint;
And her manicure is always perfect,
Demonstrating that there is no justice in the universe.
There, where the air is fragrant with epoxy and Emeraude,
She sees the finished item in all its beauty and utility
Before she ever puts blade to board.
If I were wood,
I would open to her like a morning smile,
Knowing I was in the hands of a master.
When I am opened by life, cut by words, hurt by love, stained by doubt,
I like to stand in my friend's workshop;
I find faith in the sawdust.
When I am feeling most fragile,
I like to watch what she can do
That I can't.
I see grace at her fingertips,
Comfort and purpose in the continuing racket and mess.