Saturday Afternoon Remodeling the Camper

When I was young, one of my chores

was to fetch wood for the woodstove.

Often the pieces would freeze together,

so I would have to hammer them apart.

I was small, but the cold was big. The sound

was big, and it’s still out there, waiting around

with the winter. Hammering. The fall

is here; the sound, I hear it now – it falls

into me as I sleep (as simply as leaves

falling into the grass). My husband and I

and our dog sleep piled together like logs.

Even in the light of the harvest moon,

I cannot tell what or who it is that tries

to hammer us apart. Small things chill me.

When my husband stands under the trees,

I cannot tell where he stops and the leaves

begin. We were working on the camper.

I was painting. He stooped with the welder.

He sturdies things – the camper, the trailer,

and I asked him to weld us together.

I held out my arms for him. I got down

on my knees and begged him, but I held

a paint brush in my hand (perhaps he thought

I was painting the camper’s underside),

and the welder was loud, and the wind

was blowing through the trees, and the leaves

looked really pretty in the afternoon light.