unfinished

I was smelling

a freshly built fence and thinking 

of being held. 

— my dad’s a contractor, 

a carpenter to some —

I am at a loss for why 

unstained wood reminds me of 

ordinary days and sturdy things make me yearn 

for the hollowness of summertime.

— clarity, I think, and also simplicity. 

and wonder, always wonder. — 

I like to imagine jesus and I as walking 

on opposite sides of the street. I’ve 

never been so inclined as to follow him, 

and for honesty’s sake I’ve often felt the desire 

to do the opposite. 

but over the years 

— and with a mind peeled back and 

drunk on newness — 

I built a relationship with a wholly

(holy)

other practice. 

though I am a gardener at times and I would be 

remiss to ignore nature’s way of intertwining, 

of planting roots, of sharing needs, 

of growing diversity from the same soil. 

I do not nurture a relationship with the unexplainable with

hate in my heart, 

so I left that baggage on 

the curb. 

I have never thought to have anything in common 

with the son of god

— though sometimes I do wave at him across 

a busy intersection if I see him 

over the cars. —

that which killed him must have smelled so much of

home, of ordinary days and hollow summers, 

of clarity and simplicity, 

and yes wonder, always wonder

that the rest must have become second 

only to that. 

we are both of us children of woodworkers. 

that is likely where our similarities end. 

I seek not to steep my tea in

heresy,

or braid my hair in blindness,

only to grasp another language, another

way of life

I worship at the altar of years gone by and 

remember the feeling of being held like the world 

was merely a suggestion. 

that fence today was not my own, 

nor was it built by me, 

but it was built by my father’s direction, 

a delegation of his right hand

and in a moment 

— a lifetime — 

of too many seconds without an anchor I think

the smell would stick with me long after 

the touch was gone. 

before the stain of time renders me

unrecognizable,

before the summer heat 

leaves me aching and raw

— we are all of us

unfinished. —

5/20/25 10:30pm