I thought of you today
for the first time
in a very long while.
I held a hammer in my hand,
listening to it sing
as you taught me to
all those years ago.
I remembered the lessons,
the hours of practice,
repeated attempts to emulate
your amazing abilities.
So many times you chastised,
thrusting me aside
to demonstrate once again.
Time after countless time
you would reiterate
technique meant nothing
without patience and finesse.
I watched as you sculpted,
your tools dancing, shaping,
changing the surfaces upon which
they made your music.
I recalled the day you held the chisel
while I swung the sledge;
the innumerable times
you made me promise
not to smash your hands.
Do you remember?
I was so focused,
so intent on that
singular point of contact,
I swung the hammer back
and connected …
with your head.
I was much younger then.
I have grown, and you …
you have probably forgotten
far more than I will ever know
about manipulating metal.

I thought of you today
and I thought it possible …

I might have made you proud.