by Linda Scheller
Mourning doves burst whistling from the world
beyond my property, the fence I will not fix
or dismantle, corroded beams askew,
rotting on one end and bravely conjoined on the other
in a semblance of separateness.
Don’t force it. Don’t bother worrying about things undone
and words unsaid. Don’t allow tears
to blur the lists and bills, the schedules and cards.
For every job there is a tool. Only one,
and one right way to use it. Too sharp
is better than too dull, deliberate and slow
better than carelessness and haste.
See how calm I am? How like a machine?
I learned well the lessons at your workbench,
wood curls taped to my head.
The resin-headed hammer
and blue-handled hacksaw you gave me
taught me industry, utility. Being German,
we emulate tools. We serve without complaint.
We grieve but do not cry, dependable and upright.
We keep ourselves productive and clean.
We don’t ask questions of shadows
or make a loud show of our weakness.
We work and drink and sing
and then one day, we die. We become useless.
On this point, the tools remain silent.
***
Linda Scheller is a retired educator and the author of two books of poetry, Fierce Light (FutureCycle Press) and Wind & Children (Main Street Rag Publishing Company). She serves as vice president of Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center and volunteers as a programmer for KCBP Community Radio. Her website is lindascheller.com.
Cypress Review 