That was before I could afford to
hire carpenters, and all I could find
was green wood, stuff not yet lumber but
still the body of a slaughtered tree.
Hand saw, drill, plane and sandpaper,
building shelves for the books again.
Bookshelves always stay behind
with the women, move empty
sideways into new and better digs,
get filled with one wonders what.
I give good shelf.