Joseph and Son

“And I will fasten him as a nail 
                  in a sure place .. ..” 
Isaiah 22:23 

The shop smelled of wood’s death-scent 
released, by the carpenter’s skill, 
in the spring breeze: nature 
spread across the afternoon 
squeezed bright through open windows, 
as scent lapsed into memory: his son 
among the small shop clutter, 
wading ankle-deep in wood chips; 
hair flaked with sawdust — 
smelling of new creation 
in arms held to see a chair taking form. 

“Joseph & Son” hung, 
pre-neon over the new shop, 
                                                      (a different city), 
nostalgic conjunction 
of a son stepping out with destiny. 

So, lonely, he worked the long shaft of wood, 
stroking in some last detail 
as light rushed the opened door: 
a large silhouette of a man, 
forward, with arm and hand extended. 
“I’ve come . . .” 
“I know,” the carpenter said, cutting him off, 
taking the parchment as he moved down the table 
to kiss the cross bar. 

(The light, impatient: 
arms pulled to attention; expression, firm.) 

“It’s finished.” 
Through the doorway, 
Joseph watched the soldier move slowly down the street, 
stone-footed under the heavy wooden cross.