Denise Kenny

She bought me a level
after my father died.
I saw it there, in the storage room
last night, gleaming,
in the dull light
as I sought out pliers
to remove the stuff of Christmas.
She bought me a level,
a hammer, nails
screws, screwdrivers,
a hand saw, all
in a small tool box.
Except that level
she bought me after he died,
and I was divorced just two months
and raising three babies, even though
I didn’t know how, and God knows
I needed leveling.
And she bought me a saw,
too big for the tool box,
waiting on the wall
and she helped me
to carve a life of my own.