the wood carver

he shows me

the duck

he's whittled from a block

of wood,

then painted.

it's beautiful.

it took me a year

to get the feathers

right, he says.

carefully he puts it back,

then pulls a mountain

lion off the shelf.

this is my pride and joy,

he says,

placing it in my hands,

treating it gently,

like a Fabergé egg.

two years

for this one, he says,

shaking his head.

it was hard on all of us,

just ask

my wife.