Making a canoe

You were the master of wood and glue
I would watch you, as a kid
And try to follow; I could not
I think of you, now, building my canoe

Now I know that your delight in wood
Was in the trueness of a straight line
In perfect joints, smooth as glass
In your plane – making things good

I would watch you, dad, as you
Poured your quiet strength into a task –
Strong shelves, fit for an elephant
I can’t do what you could do

I’m seeding the boat's imperfection
With each ill-judged line and cut
I am hoping it will float, but still
It would fail your inspection

Show me dad, please, let me see
At least you tried. Making was your thing
Not people – their imperfection
I was subdued by your mastery

Your square-tipped fingers made to till
Were the templates for mine. I look down
And see my clumsy fingers on the wood
I have your hands. I do not have your skill