Whittling by Annis Cassells Winter nights GrandPap sat Snug near the coal stove In the home-place dining room arthritic fingers wrapped around a time-worn pocket knife scored a scantling of well-grained wood with knife point markings true His opening cleave, Unlocked black walnut breath Silent shavings lined his lap Surrounded his straight-backed chair ‘Til bedtime, when links entwined Created a perfect chain
Annis Cassells is a longtime member of Writers of Kern, a teacher, a traveler, a poet. Her first collection of poetry, You Can’t Have It All, came out in 2019.
What a lovely snap shot! It conveys much that is outside of the shot.
Thank you. It’s a precious memory. xoA
Beautiful imagery. You paint a vivid portrait using words as your paintbrush.
Thank you, Richard. Music to a poet’s ears.
Thank you so much Cuz for the beautiful poem. Your words bring back memories of our GrandPap whittling his chains. Can you imagine, out of one piece of walnut wood?
I’m glad you liked it, Teresa. Especially since you’ve probably witnessed this scene. I would love to have one of GrandPap’s chains or even see one of them again. Hugs and thank you for reading and commenting. xoA <3