I tried to be perfect
A young girl looks
Back at me
All the curves and nooks
And hurt one can’t see
Saws shaved the corners
A router smothered imperfections
Grinding down burners
- Nostalgia is infectious
Shoes trod the once polished wood
Running feet…
Feet running…
Stomping feet…
Feet stomping….
Handling as much as I could
Until the lamella chips
off
Piece - by - Piece
The perfectly crafted oil-dipped
Plank
Falls
Apart
A plank has no peace
Communities argue for it to be ripped
But that little girl
Saw the warped curl
And understood.
Yesterday I tried to be perfect
But looked through eyes of childhood
And saw beauty in the wrecked
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