The screaming exhaust fan
And hints of a roof leak.
Tiptoe on a ladder
Tufts of dust falling
Tender fingertips pinching tiny bolts.
Vacuum, screw drivers, ratchet set, and rags.
Belly down in the insulation
Sweating beneath his coveralls
An empty bucket of Henry's coating
Leaf and grit swept off the roof.
Now the fan hums gently.
All possible leaks, slathered in tar.
We swept up and put away,
Weary but satisfied
As if we'd created something new.
Could it be that the maintaining
Of what God loaned,
This valuing of our domain,
Bespeaks to us like a Muse
To the poet's pen,
Whispering restoration and renewal
To all the broken things?
And these tools to renew—
The ladder, vacuum, screw—
Are the medium
Sharpening the artists' skills?
We spent the morning mending
While the children made mud pies in the yard.
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