A Rose

A Rose by debgrant

I carved a rose

from oak and mahogany

with a steel gouge and

a rock maple mallet and

my frustration, confusion

and inelegance of being

maligned and misunderstood

by people whose table I waited on.

The rose blooms by the table now

with beauty despite

my flailing blows of

brokenheartedness.

The mallet shattered from

misplaced pressure.

The carver limped away.

The rose remains

tenderized.

Its beauty hidden.

It holds a memory

of a loved one long forgotten,

of a limp unhealed and forgiven,

of a body beaten to life.

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