The Corner Cabinet

September 17th, 2012

The frilly symmetry of trees
draws air and earth together through
columnar vessels.  Cut in slabs,

laboriously sliced and grooved
and holed and beveled, rearranged
and oiled and polished, cherry stands

across the room, a corner hutch
I pieced together with my hands
this winter past.  This afternoon

in May the gentle clouded light
comes washing, smooths the stiles
and panels, rails and blocky knobs,

and deep-coved molding overspreads
the top but casts no shadow.  Still,
the room.  The streaks of winter’s dark

that mark the grain were cut to seem
to curl and writhe through salmon pink
and ruddy bands that shift but not

unless the eye that views them shifts.
A hundred years or so, perhaps,
and pale small things will eat it back

to soil, this life caught at a peak
and frozen that our eyes, which give
no heat nor light, receive as warm.

This entry was posted on Monday, September 17th, 2012 at 12:24 am and is filed under Furniture, Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

One Response to “The Corner Cabinet”

  1. Upton O. Goode Says:

    The piece itself is poetry.

    No words are needed.

Leave a Reply