In honor of the nicks and blessings of the old year and with hope for building something beautiful in the new one, here’s a poem about the way small things just do add up.
The Measure of a Life
After the funeral,
from the detritus of
grandfather’s shop
drifted to my toolbox
a brass-hinged ruler.
Verner’s hands
wore it down to brown
long before the metal
tape I knew
lost its numbers.
At fifteen-inches,
several scratches,
rubbed black,
whisper the
unremembered past.
An image flickers:
Dark haired.
Crooked smile.
Arm taut. Guide finger
set. Intent.
Then fades.
Each focused moment
leaves its mark.
Layered years
unfold
the measure of a life.
© Steve Peterson
For more Poetry Friday poems, please hang out for a spell at Carol’s Corner.
Nancie Atwell has a quote in one of her books about the importance of “things” in writing with specificity. I thought of that quote as I read about your grandfather’s brass hinged ruler. I love the “measure of life” ending.
Thanks, Carol. Ted Kooser says some of the same stuff in his book, THE POETRY HOME REPAIR MANUAL. I know that I’m really drawn to poems that start with something concrete at the core.
Thanks for hosting Poetry Friday!
I agree with Carol, Steve – great poem.
Thanks for stopping by, Matt. I loved the poems you posted. Very precise and sharp like a winter night under a nearly full moon.
Well-used tools carry more than a little of a person’s soul, don’t they?
I treasure the flickering images of my father that still come to me.
Yes they do, Mary. I never saw Grandpa use this particular tool, which means that the story it whispers extends way back, long before me and my white hair.
Thanks so much for stopping by!