Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2010
I am making a log pile
I choose a chainsaw carefully,
sixteen inch
I prime it,
push in three times
one
two
three
and pull
it roars and comes to life,
I find a tree,
dead and rotting,
poor thing
there is no time to think
so I start cutting
slice
slice
BOOM
it falls.
Next comes liming
small branches fly
time to log it
careful not to hit the ground
the chainsaws teeth chew through birch
it’s a clean dismemberment.
I stack the logs one by one,
building on what is already there
one on top of the other
sometimes they fall
and I have to rearrange
but I never give up
that log pile
isn’t a pile at all.
kayla morrison
Written by
kayla morrison
840
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems