Hobble Creek Review
| Alie Kloefkorn |
The Walking Stick
--for Grandpa K.
I remember the
tree branch,
chosen for its persistence
in one direction,
its endurance of
the misty airs of summer and
the core-splintering chill of winter
come to an end here
in the musty light
of this garage,
plucked from a
bin by hands as spry
as its fellow limbs
once were,
as pale and delicate as
its inner skin is revealed
to be following
the stripping of its weathered
shell. Those
innards—clean and
untouched as a newborn,
soft as sawdust,
“smooth as a bean”—
are always the same,
a young soul of want and will
betrayed by the
scars and sags of a
body not built
to last.
And I remember
the polyurethane polish, how
it created a thick haze
of sweet and heavy in
the air, how it
always seemed to
move to a different
time than the rest of the world,
a slower time,
following the dowel with
a certain hesitation,
meandering within
the rusted cylinder
with flow and ease.
Stirring, stirring, then
lifting, the dowel
slogging a glob of the
thick amber into the
air where it
suspends for a moment—
a moment you think, for a
heartbeat’s worth of time,
might last forever—
before gravity drizzles
it down, its creases
settling smoothly
in the pond of acrid honey.
It will be applied
to the wood where
it will cool to hold time in place,
sinking into the
grooves and scores,
trenches and valleys
of a life for
us to run our fingers
and our minds over later,
marveling at its
eternity and wondering why
we move so fast.
But that will be then.
For now,
grand-
father and
grand-
child are strolling,
newly-crafted walking sticks
in hand, one finding more use
for the fifth limb than
the other, crunching
through brittle blades
of grass and expired
leaves. They are life
amongst the
dead, young
next to old,
eternity in stride,
for an instant,
with the present,
a moment coated in the same polyurethane
they hold in their hands,
safe-kept in sepia
for later days—
man and girl
walking through
the park,
now and for
as long as those sticks
keep them
standing.
--for Grandpa K.
I remember the
tree branch,
chosen for its persistence
in one direction,
its endurance of
the misty airs of summer and
the core-splintering chill of winter
come to an end here
in the musty light
of this garage,
plucked from a
bin by hands as spry
as its fellow limbs
once were,
as pale and delicate as
its inner skin is revealed
to be following
the stripping of its weathered
shell. Those
innards—clean and
untouched as a newborn,
soft as sawdust,
“smooth as a bean”—
are always the same,
a young soul of want and will
betrayed by the
scars and sags of a
body not built
to last.
And I remember
the polyurethane polish, how
it created a thick haze
of sweet and heavy in
the air, how it
always seemed to
move to a different
time than the rest of the world,
a slower time,
following the dowel with
a certain hesitation,
meandering within
the rusted cylinder
with flow and ease.
Stirring, stirring, then
lifting, the dowel
slogging a glob of the
thick amber into the
air where it
suspends for a moment—
a moment you think, for a
heartbeat’s worth of time,
might last forever—
before gravity drizzles
it down, its creases
settling smoothly
in the pond of acrid honey.
It will be applied
to the wood where
it will cool to hold time in place,
sinking into the
grooves and scores,
trenches and valleys
of a life for
us to run our fingers
and our minds over later,
marveling at its
eternity and wondering why
we move so fast.
But that will be then.
For now,
grand-
father and
grand-
child are strolling,
newly-crafted walking sticks
in hand, one finding more use
for the fifth limb than
the other, crunching
through brittle blades
of grass and expired
leaves. They are life
amongst the
dead, young
next to old,
eternity in stride,
for an instant,
with the present,
a moment coated in the same polyurethane
they hold in their hands,
safe-kept in sepia
for later days—
man and girl
walking through
the park,
now and for
as long as those sticks
keep them
standing.
Alie Kloefkorn is currently an undergraduate at the
University of Nebraska-Lincoln where she is studying
English and History. She hopes to one day teach
English at the university level.
University of Nebraska-Lincoln where she is studying
English and History. She hopes to one day teach
English at the university level.
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