Carving (Draft 2)

She stared at her childhood tree
with the missing swing
where her sister once played in life

Behind the branch cracked window
of the house inherited from her mother,
she meditated on her husband’s gift
conjuring up a spectacular notion
though she starved but for love
with money from his carvings

Someday the perfect wood
he would carve with love

For now, an odd job here
and there could be no
saving his carving tools

He sold them to buy a swing of memories,
so she could finish grieving, and he
imagined how she would sit on the swing
like a joyful child
feet to the sky,
singing a prayer, and
they would sigh,
the air vibrant with hope
and dreams, miracles to come

But for him she had her own visions, and
she cut down the tree she knew would be
his perfect block of wood. She saw him
gleeful with his tools, shaping his dreams
sawdust in the wind, chisels in a blizzard
melting a depression, bringing
exuberance flakes of fate

When his smile appeared at the door
singing and swinging a wrapped package,
she couldn’t wait to show him her gift for him.

She said, “Let’s walk by the tree…”
“Excellent idea,” he said, and he
swung the gift up and back
rocking it like a baby.

Do you like it she had said.
He was stunned.
Couldn’t speak.

She was puzzled by the sky
by the dazzling sunset colors
on a perfect block of wood

He unwrapped the package, and
they cried, and then
they laughed and
then cried
and laughed and cried
like a swinging song of love
for a sapling and a child.

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Carving A Dream

July 1, 2007

She stared at her childhood tree
with the missing swing
where her sister once played in life

Behind the branch cracked window
of the house inherited from her mother,
she meditated on her husband’s gift
conjuring up a spectacular notion
though she starved but for love
with money from his carvings

Someday the perfect wood
he would carve with love

For now, an odd job here
and there could be no
saving his carving tools

He sold them to buy a swing of memories,
so she could finish grieving

She cut down the tree she knew
was the perfect block of wood

— Douglas Gilbert