Paul Harding’s “Tinkers”
“My goodness, I am made from planets and wood, diamonds and orange peels, now then, here and there; the iron in my blood was once the blade of a Roman plow; peel back my scalp and you see my cranium covered in the scrimshaw carved by and ancient sailor who never suspected that he was whittling at my scull - no, my blood is a Roman plow, my bones are being etched by men with names that mean sea wrestler and ocean rider and the pictures they are making are pictures of northern stars at different seasons, an the man keeping my blood straight as it splits the soil is named Lucian and he will plant wheat, and cannot concentrate on this apple, this apple, and the only this common to all of this is that I feel sorrow so deep, it must be love, and they are upset because while they are carving and plowing they are troubled by visions of trying to pick apples from barrels.”
