Saturday, February 13, 2010


Basswood panels,
full of promise --
my father knew
they hold secrets
when he left them
next to a box
of carving tools.

When my mind turns to "could-a-beens," I know it's time for re-tooling because the wishy-washy pile's only going to get higher if I don't switch into four-wheel drive.  When I find myself admiring someone else's wall of famous faces, I realize it's the same thing.  Show me instead your album of future memories.

"So you think I should take down my wall?" says Virginia.

"What wall?" I say.  "Shall we look?"

"Go ahead."  She points to a cardboard box, taped like a mummy.

"Maybe some other time," I say.

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