Instruments

I remove my shoes, dip
hot feet in the chilly pool
where I swam as a girl, come
now when my need for solace
fills me up like liquid in a jar.

Long before the surgeon
knew me, he turned bloodwood
smooth with his lathe,
set a gold nib, filled the magazine
with ink. Before he knew, or said,
I held the pen and it was mine.

Last night I drove to California to visit my family for my cousin's 30th birthday. We ate dinner and such, and then her husband and his father brought out these pens they made. All kinds of woods - some from their own yard, some from doors, who knows where it was all from. Really cool stuff. I was picking up pens and chatting, and then I picked up my pen. It is small, made of bloodwood, is a fine point fountain pen and was filled with purple ink. When he saw me with the pen he told me I could have it. What a gift.