The Woodworker

The Woodworker
Betsy McKenzie

A thin slice of fir wood,
Sanded smooth,
Waxed and polished
Until it glows.
Who knew that wood
Could be translucent?
Like a sliver of agate,
Windowing the light,
Bands of brown and gold.
My son, the alchemist,
Working magic,
Transubstantiating
The homeliest matter
Into a magical moon
Of shimmering, gilded stone.


For Joe, on St. Joseph’s Day
March 19, 2006