Working

My childhood is a lockbox in the attic
securing the slow sound of sandpaper
stripping veneer by a medium-grit woman
at ease on the floor of the garage,
a vintage afghan dozing next to the Siamese cat
on the squat couch in the living room,
and the day-old smell of varnish rising up
from a garnet of a man deep in his own basement
on a lean Saturday afternoon.

Advertisements

7 Replies to “Working”

Tell me about it.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s