sawdust

 

No one heard the soft thud of sliced wood
against the mound of sawdust
as soft and clean smelling as a young oak
The saw screamed and gnashed its teeth
in overworked shrieks that hurt
my ears as I held your lunch and waited
It was noon and the sun had no qualms
with basting a man in his own sweat
and a child waiting with a father's lunch
had better things to do than listen
to deep shouting and saw screams
The water nearby flowed like a promise
Too cool to ignore, too bright with diamonds
the sun made in her spare time and scattered
on the tips of waves.
But I stayed, my hands staining the brown bag
darker with moisture and wishing
that you liked to swim or climb trees
or that you would see me and say
Run along now, because I would
with no more thought than any child should have
knowing grown ups ruled the world.
What I didn't know  was how
you made my world
an easy place to play in, standing faithful
to family, while the saw and the sun sliced
 your own dreams to sawdust.
 

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

A childhood memory? It seems so. Such snapshots in time are true treasures. Important little pieces of your makeup. I worked at sawmills when young and can easily hear the sounds and smell the various woods.

[Emily B]

wondrous

[roarke]

that's exactly what it's like. that's exactly what it means. but those ARE the dreams of stardust, not sawdust.... we just don't usually understand how it's framed in our technological world. I know.

[Greg the Bard]

As a youth in south Alabama I worked in a saw mill for two summers. It was the hardest work I have ever done in my life time. You discription of the works and the noise is spot on. I remember many more thing that I may write about now. Thanks. I lover the iimapes in this write.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I've breathed my share of sawdust and heard the screams of the big saws...you bring a wistful childlike romance to a harsh hand blistered enviroment. Brilliant as always.

[W.k.kortas]

Wistful with the requisite daily requirement of Venablese. Fine piece of writing.

[Ken Simm.]

This one I can see even down to the motes of dust in the sunlight. Superb.

[Chris]

Phibby,

This one left me staring into the distant pasts...
thank you hon.

Chris