For the Next Task, I Turn From the Bench
with one hundred bronze clench nails
in a wide mouth mason, the bucking iron’s
finger gap smooth upon my hand,
the ball-peen longing for its sway, to meet
each nail’s head gently, to send the slender
tooth into its bread, whereupon the head
is backed by weighted hand, that the tapered
spike may be driven in reverse, the soft-tapping
slow dance of the working bend,
that the golden nail may re-enter
the wood from which it came, & holdfast
two strakes together, that the many
may share a single name.
–
Southwest Review
Volume 98, Number 2
