transubstantiation
things die every day
forms collapse and reconfigure
traces disappear
but here my friend has taken a piece
of our dead walnut tree
riddled with cankers
hacked to lengths
left in the shed for years
and with a patient steady loving hand
she’s turned it into a rolling pin
our hands can clasp and make with
its life converted to the heft
that will make things smooth and sweet
reincarnated and repurposed
like the Little Fir Tree’s obverse
she’s brought its wood
into our warm kitchen
where it’ll now shape apple pie
