at the woodshop
by Yousef Hilmy
at the wood shop
covered in sawdust
she heaves with the bandsaw
thinking about her indexfinger (its silence)
shaved off after some time in the shop--
seldom did a whirr, hung in the air,
seize the thought held with others ;
milling around in the warmvessel
a kind of comingling--
but when it took shape, amid the others,
she made sure to separate and mark.
caught in the din’s oddly tender clutch,
the sense of a reckoning
I by them.
Yousef Hilmy is a senior at Brown concentrating in English Literature and other stuff. He likes candy, especially jelly beans. His favorite writer is W.G. Sebald.