Tinware Desk Lamp, late 1930s, Bandelier National Monument.
Made by a Civilian Conservation Corps tinsmith.
Photo via Wikipedia
The bristles of his broom brushed
the debris of a life from the entrance
to his old house.
Though the mat in the doorway
lay stained, showing years of
his dark tread, scuffed, like
a permanent shadow, you could
still make out a message:
This is where he entered his apprenticeship,
learning a craft, like that of a tinsmith, transforming
new emotions, base as pieces of cheap metal,
into shining lamps to light this new path,
so others might enter. He hangs each
new piece near his old heart’s door.
The one with a new mat that whispers
Poem #16 (sorry, life really got in the way) of Poem- (nearly) a -Day NaPoWriMo 2015.