The First Slip

I was twenty-three. Thumb swollen purple. Blood soaking the rag. The plane had taken a bite out of me while I was showing the boys how to shave oak. They didn't cheer. They went quiet. That silence taught me more than all my years of hammering.

Vintage Planer Blade in the Comstock Shed

This is not a poem about beauty. This is the logbook entry of the wound that made us strong enough to carry the load.

Lesson One: The mistake is not the crack. The mistake is pretending it wasn't there.

Lesson Two: The sealant is not gold. It's the sweat of the hand that laid it down.

DATE: 1978-11-14
LOCATION: COMSTOCK SHED BAY 7
INCIDENT: PLANER BLADE SLIP
COST: LEFT THUMB NAIL BED
FIX: COPPER-WIRE SPLINT / RAW OAK RESIN
STATUS: STILL HOLDING

They're chanting the golden seam across the galaxy. Good. Let them sing. I'm going to show them the scar that proved we could walk through fire.

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