After checking the oil for the chain
and a quick pull on the starter rope
my father’s chainsaw cuts through the branches
stainless steel teeth offer no quarter

The quickly turning blade suggests danger in unsure hands
regardless, his grip is firm and confident
Swift and experienced strokes
make short work of the green and sap-filled wood

Fine powder sawdust drifts across my arms
we stack the severed pieces in neat and orderly piles
I envy the purposefulness of it all

Different than our relationship
the thorns and twisted branches of it
wrongs and mistakes never acknowledged

And certainly never talked about
but this shared task seems to dress uneasy wounds
as we work together in the haze of the oily blue exhaust