A Gift from My Father

Together we stand in the woods,
the faded orange Husqevarna clutched
in grimy gloves that envelop my hands.
My heart races as the engine growls.

Sensing my fear,
you smile and nod
and ease my nerves.

I position the whirring blade on the tree,
and dust flies everywhere
The slice in the wood deepens,
then breaks off.
I glance over to see you grinning.

Want to try again?

Yup.

Later, as I lie in bed,
scents of sawdust and gasoline
cling to my hand—

an aroma that belongs
to your fingers
now lingers on mine.

---

Sarah Jordan, age 13
2008 Finalist
West Bath, Maine
Center for Teaching and Learning (Edgecomb)
Teacher: Nancie Atwell