The Groaning Board

Winter's shadows on a steel gray afternoon

Shadows un-sharpened by the sun

Lie softly upon the wooden floor

Where worn leather soles

Once danced in abstract patterns on the oak

Leaving indefinite memories

Of lives of purpose,

But so long ago no one recalls them.

Heartwood, they boast proudly

Hard hearts lived here.

One has to look carefully for few scars

Scars are well-hidden in the dust.

Perpendicular forces buried

In the grain and quiet tension of the years.

They reflect no weakness in spirit

Or indecision in purpose.

A wooden floor that was built

To live above the earth, protecting a babe’s feet

And to get a foothold in life

Even to frame a braided rag rug that was

Completed with arthritic hands.

They are all now gone and winter afternoons

Whisper so that the wood does not groan.