Common Things

On our first morning in the house

our new home not yet cold

from its last abandonment

we tiptoed on our thin young legs

down to the cool cellar

heavy with the scent of stone and earth

we found a workbench with a few hand saws

tinged with rust in this electric age

and on the floor a 12 pound sledge

useless      with a splintered handle

that could have easily been replaced

if anyone had cared

half way down the basement was

a heavy timbered room

about ten feet on either side

whose door barely responded

to the pull of a ten

and an eight year old

but when it did and when we groped

to find the switch

a single hanging bulb lit up

to reveal a large square chest

a room within a room

a poultry incubator six feet tall

varnished oak with frame and panel doors

drawer after drawer of wire mesh

brass hinges and latches with long thick handles

handles that pulled easily

handles cast without a care

for a bit of extra metal

handles as long as a young boy’s arm

with graceful curves to welcome the hand

and a thickening at the end

to signify nothing but the maker’s sense

of how such a simple metal piece

should look to the eye and feel to the touch

good for nothing now except

to fasten closed a wooden door

if there was something left to seal inside

good for nothing but to teach

a little boy the feel of common things

and help him understand what beauty is

© 2015 Frank Kearns