In the House of My Parents, by Joseph Thomas

Christ in the House of His Parents, by John Everett Millais (Britain) 1850

In the House of My Parents
 
It starts and ends with wood
And flesh.  Blood, clearly, and 
Mother’s care, Father’s gaze--
Benevolent, concerned,
Angry, Loving.  Never 
Am I sure.  As far back
As I can make out
A dank, calm confusion
Has always surrounded
My purpose. Uncertain
Skills reveal themselves, but
Only occasionally,
When called upon in haste.
 
For tools, a Roman plane,
A stone and wood mallet.
My first attempts to please
Father’s dry constant eye
Planks hewn from trunks of trees,
Split, split again, again
And again.  Then, worked to 
Rugged smoothness, just straight 
Enough to keep out death.
 
Is this apprenticeship
Or the family business?
My hand yearns for magic
To change the very form
Of logs, rough, unshapen
To lumber, straight, even.
The building blocks of life.
My mistakes end in pain,
A pierced hand, a bloody foot.

Joseph Thomas

Joseph Thomas is a hard working poet writing in Los Angeles, CA.  His passion for poetry is only exceeded by his love of his children, and backpacking alone in the Sierra Nevadas.