Why would a poet need some good wood? Wouldn’t it make more sense to need paper or pens? Just like everyone else, we do practical things from time to time. Maybe not when we are creating and ideating, bandying words about in our minds to fashion into a rhyme. I have always wanted an extra cabinet in my bedroom to house all my books on my favorite subject—poetry of course. I have more than a few and they are strewn about my room. I have relegated a few to the coffee table and kitchen counter. There are two on the bathroom floor and one in the laundry area. Some organization is at hand.
I don’t want a plastic-looking prefab unit you can get at any home depot. I want quality wood with some actual character. I want nuance and expression—concepts I value in writing. I needed to find some reclaimed wood to get the effect I cherish. It isn’t always easy to find something out of the ordinary. I like to support local businesses so I am not going online. I will make the rounds of the lumber yards and maybe one or two will have a pile of old wood that can be repurposed. I looked at ads like this one in the paper that claimed “good wood at a good price.” Okay, I am game.
I shopped around and found some small pieces of reclaimed wood that would be perfect for my add-on cabinet. When you aren’t buying a lot of lumber, you won’t spend much. I will enjoy working with special wood because of all the variations in the grain and texture. In fact, I could write an ode about it. I would expand the imagery to encompass the wood’s origin. Maybe it was an old barn or Victorian mansion. It would be a mystery until it was formulated in my mind. I would test different scenarios. That’s how poetry is written. You pen a few lines and then you move them about and add or subtract words. You have to get the cadence just right and the rhyme scheme if you are using one. You can use metaphors galore as they create “imagery” and fuel the imagination of the reader.
Now it’s a few weeks later and my wood cabinet is wonderful and my books have the perfect home. They sit side by side in mutual juxtaposition sorted alphabetically. It will now be easy to find what I need. I read and reread them often and will have to pay attention when putting them back in place. When I wanted to work one more time on my ode to reclaimed wood, I couldn’t find it. I looked everywhere from my bureau drawers to my desk around my laptop. I cringed at the thought of starting over. But patience my man. The loose sheet of paper containing my artful words was stuck in a poetry book on my nightstand.