Wednesday, March 27, 2024

Carpenter Sunrise


 

Carpenter Sunrise

From my window I see
branches dripping
gray fog.
I face a long day
heaving heavy boards,
testing
my brittle back,
glasses wet
with sweat,
porcupine fingers
bristling splinters,
shaping lumber
with a clear heart.

    Carpenter, carpenter, what do you say?
    Cut wood all day,
    bring home the pay:
    a pocketful of sawdust.

With strange joy
I can't wait
to begin.

…..

From my book Son of a Poet.
Photo by Julian DC on Pixabay.
Note: I wrote this poem 41 years ago after a long rainy day of work when I tried to buy a sandwich, found only sawdust in my pockets, and felt this strange surge of joy: I love my work, I love my life. (Bob Cook, the owner at La Honda Market, let me have the sandwich for sawdust.) You can find the full story in my book 99 Jobs.

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