the lumberman

it’s winter down some back-road just

north of Quesnel, with steady hands

a lumberman falls another tree.

with this wood he longs to build

a house, to warm it, stand upon its roof

and know the strength beneath him,

shape a cane for when his back

has weakened, a chair to sit in,

a table to work from. he hopes

to carve a birdhouse from the

smooth heartwood of these trees,

whittle a family in perfect proportions,

toys for the children, a night stand

for a wife. he thinks of his father

while limbing the wood by hand.