Planing
By Jonathan Bennett
His hands on mine, I hold the plane tight
And try to press my eighty-plus pounds
Down to hold the metal flat against
An old scrap of lumber lying around.
At his word I push hard as I can,
And can't raise a splinter from its skin
Until he adds his strength: older, skilled.
And a curl appears through the blade hole
Turning in on itself to spiral,
Which he takes out at the end and says,
"There, that's pretty good for a first one."
Then drops it with the other shavings
And lifts the plane to start again.
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