One time when I was young my father asked me to help him in the shop by sanding some wood. I began sanding the board against the grain. When my Dad barked at me for it I threw the sanding block down and never helped him again. So perhaps it’s fitting that for the past thirteen years my work has focused almost exclusively on the natural beauty of wood.
You’ve forgotten the names of your homemade saintswho crowd in the dark behind your thin lids.In the veil you’ve drawn betweenHere and Not Here, they...
*With gratitude to all who contributed to this crowd-sourced list poem following my social media inquiry
I’m so sorry that happened to you.It makes sense...