a poem a day for a year #47

pockets of time

putty knife scraping out hours together


preschool heaven's gate

the boys are at grandma's

late at night

play dates

any old time we are alone


our noon meet up today was hot


made our breath come quick

we hung heavy drywall today

my arms were shaking like wind


I thought back to the construction crew you

worked with right after we were married

when you worked for money

not using talent

but brawn

and my heart beats



for your strong hands


we would meet at tiny pubs for happy hour

back then

and all the crew would lift cheap bottles to their lips

and you would pull me onto your lap and kiss me silly

tell me that someday things would be so much better

and our working class laughs filled the tavern


two hands that are rough sandpaper tough

when they pull across my body

I am reminded that you make things

you are a creator

a physical human maker

and we make things together now

wood and bone and houses and sketches of the future

I measure out my life in hammers and nails

I have always been your apprentice