Second Mementos | Nathan B. Viste-Ross
. . . And from the cherry tree he planted, felled and milled,
Stor Ole made the table that I stand before.
He was my great-grandfather, and in family lore,
When asked “Why sand the underside?” he said “I’ll know.”
Like a homestead or a barn or a field that’s tilled,
This sturdy, simple drop-leaf lets its history show.
Now its unvarnished surface is a fingerprint
With whorls of worn, troughed springwood and ridged summerwood.
When I rest my hands on its top, I just feel good.
Its contours shape a memory that I can touch.
I can recall a man I never met. The tint
And heft about his table might explain him much.
Before it I can feel old, I’m a part, I’m among.
As my father sits beside it, he seems young . . .