Chip, chop, chisel 

Strip away 


Are we there yet?

What do you make of me?

What am I allowed to control?

Barking splinters with a thunking axe 

Strike, hammer, divide

Block, pound and sever 

Years of growth reduced to kindling

Unkind scraps 

Hold a smoldering spark 

clinging to dryer lint

I’m freezing to death! 

My hands are covered in burns and cuts 

Too dry to hold on, too paralyzed to let go

Wax, wane, whittle

Are we there yet?


Inspired by the prompt Near; Five Minute Friday. xo 

13 thoughts on “Whittle

  1. Great metaphor! Ahh the satisfaction of the rip of a good cut, or jolt of the deep and hidden knot… but always the work. Kindling may be the only way to restart a fire, becoming consumed to fuel the heat that keeps you alive and safe, as the work pans out.

    Liked by 1 person

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