This one is for the daughter
Of the sister
Of the man who
Oversees the operation
Of the pressing machine
That squeezes the two slabs of wood
Together
Around the dowel rod of black graphite
At the pencil factory
Where this particular pencil first
Came to life.
May she one day discover our connection.
May I awaken to our kinship.
May we together
Discover a world made rich
With unexpectedness
And mercy
And popsicles.
May the wonder of the universe
Shine brightly in our eyes.
And may our children’s children’s children
Reap a harvest of peace.
Russellings of the Spirit 
0 Responses to “Pencil”