26 January 2012

Writing from Sandpaper

PROMPT: A well-worn scrap of sandpaper. Often I put out a collection of objects for writers to choose from, but this particular object is apt to draw a very different response from each person. It reminded me of my husband, whose shop I confiscated it from, and the many things he's made for me--including dinner!

Writing from Sandpaper

His smell whiffs from
the bracken of grit     halted
on this scratched scrap.

It’s the part of him that's
buff and press and snow—
his pattern as it smooths its way
into my tables
     my shelves
          my chairs.
Into a cabinet of earrings singing secrets.
Into an island where herbs chiffonade
in time with the melting sun.

Smooth, so smooth this shaven skin
limber with sweat and callous:
his, mine, this life.

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