If I weren't carving,
I’d be doing nothing.
My life would be
this solid block of wood.
The knife puts years
on either side of me.
It brings me to this moment.
It lets me live on in something
you'll someday hold in your hand.
I make shapes to get shape out of me.
I cut through this wood
where the surface
screams loudest,
where the inside
hungers most to be.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions and the anthology, No Achilles with work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Gargoyle, Coal City Review and Nebo.
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