Hand it over

the hands make & the maker watches

A cat head with a spindly column of a body, a bench with a head too large to be supported, a bed of spring folds dangling from a flat backed head.

My hands have been making random things, while I can’t lay claim to any of such creations, I watched as these soon-to-be-living-things emerge from the pinching and twisting of my hands.

I came back from busying at the furniture stores, imagining how each of the pieces would not fit into my life.

Plonked myself onto the floor of my chairless, tableless workspace, made a bench with cloth. Perhaps my hands wanted to give my bum a gift, but my hands being hands, perhaps due to the lack of eyes, did not scale it to my bum. Or maybe it’s really meant for beakies.

I could see where it was going, hands must want to make a wooden bench. But with cloth.

But it already stands on its own without the reinforcement.

So different of course, wood from fabric. I wasn’t expecting fabric to perform the to behave the same way just as one would not expect two people to like their pancakes exactly the same way.

The bench stood. Even with loosely sewn threads. I don’t know nor do I see ever the need to ever find out the math of this.

It stood.

That’s what matters. However briefly.

Slowly, one leg at a time, like my dog after a ball run in midday sun, collapsed.

It plonked onto the ground like I did, after a long day in the clutch of my hands.

Rest well my friend whom I’ve never met, may you wake from slumber jumping, barking and tail wagging,

Beakies & Marn