Made to last

it’s not kept up there

on the special trophy shelf 

with other myriad mementos

his tankard the war medals

silver pocket watch et al

it has no status

holds no pride of place 

swinging from a rusty hook

on the back wall of the garage

it shares a dark corner

with an old cobwebbed 

trout net

his old tenon saw

beech handle brass spine

still as good as new

honest, a workmanlike tool

made to last in those days,

it beats those other facile 

heirlooms that gather dust

hands down

its patina reflecting images

of cupboards once made

table legs carefully sawn

snug dovetails cut by eye,

but it’s when I hold it

using my left

(his would have been the right)

my fingers tucked in, 

like a child holding a parent’s hand

thumb curled over secure,

I can see his breath spill

over my shoulder

like fine sawdust and

hear his encouraging words

steady, true, take your time

this is how I stay in touch

him gone now some 

thirty years or more but

with this one old tool

I can still hold his hand

*

© Graham R Sherwood 12/22