Ode to Dresser Drawers: A Love Song
by Parker Logan
The directions don’t match the parts
and I hammer wrong sides of wood
to wrong sides of pieces. My thumb licks
splinters. Each nailing and reworking,
each mistake throws the body together
like a half baked book report on Babbit.
Bits blow off the edge, run under
tables, hide from my spews with the mice.
Even they fear my banging.
I turn stripped screws through particle boards,
I make legs for it to stand, a shape
to hold itself up. But where will it go,
this chest of drawers built on fumes,
this rickety frame with one arm
on the cross? How will it stand knowing
it bares roses dead in vases, pictures
fading in light? When will it find a shovel
and bury itself from me and
hide in a hole filled with old poems--
Yeats, Poe, and White. I need more than
a hammer to nail this together. I need
a home to keep it in, a corner
to place it in. I need someone to share it
with, to tell me to fix it when the wheels
leave the latch, when it no longer opens.
I need you-- to help me when my hands
splinter hard. To uncover it
from the dirt. To find it working.
To help it stay put in a house, our house,
the one we’re still building, on dirt
and lava, waiting to blow up.