by Fred Voss, with image above by Ehsan Ganji
The machinist on the machine in the corner of the machine shop
does not talk
in love
with his machine that will never say one word
he listens
to the turning of its gears the groans of steel blocks he cuts
the teeth of his machine handle turning to lift his tool steel machine table another inch higher
maybe he’s trying to forget the words
of the father
who punched him out and sent him to the street
or the woman
who broke his heart
or the jail
that almost ruined his life
silently
he puts his hands
on hammers and wrenches like he is ready to build another world
with them
a world true
as the beating of his heart the muscles in his back and arms
the ray of sun
falling through the high factory window onto his back
he oils his machine
rubs its steel dials full of thousandth-of-an-inch calibration marks with a rag so he can hold
blueprint dimensions carefully as Einstein inching toward
E=mc2
like the meaning of each star is in his fingertips
turning the barrel of his micrometer
we let him be
as his machine runs
maybe he was once an inch away
from killing a man
or going mad trying to learn how to live in a cardboard box
in an alley
we don’t ask
we don’t want to break his beautiful silence
a rose is opening
a whale leaping out of the sea to feel the sun
Beethoven placing his fingers upon his “Moonlight Sonata” piano keys
the man at the machine in the corner smiling
like a better world
is just around
the corner.
