Endless Lawn XXII

There are other labors that can inspire poetry, ya know? Here’s one about wood.

We Cut the Wood

We cut the wood

well, first, we found it

rather, Zach found it

by the water.

Don’t ask me

what kind of trees they were.

I only know that they were dead,

and lying parallel to the bank.

I pushed his cart 

and he carried his saw.

I stood on the pale rocks

while he cut,

among the thousand striations

cut like veins by the 

river when it was high, 

swollen by snow

or else rain.

He cut the trees into logs

We hucked the logs across the crag ditch.

We carried them up the little hill.

I pushed some back to camp.

He pushed some back to camp.

Now we’ll test their mettle.

T. Evans, May 2023