The Lapidary's Other Drawer

Lyrics

The top drawer holds the agate. The tourmaline.
Words like 'Faith' and 'Hope.'
The script is a clean Garamond.
Mrs. Patterson buys one for her mantelpiece.
She says the polish is lovely.
But under the bench, where the stone dust settles thickest...
There is the other drawer.
Rough oak. No handle.
You use your fingernails to pull it free.
Inside, the stones are darker. River-smooth slate.
My steel burin with the chipped handle knows these best.
I carve the words from John Florio's list, the one from 1598.
'Quim' takes a steady hand.
'Pizzle' has a difficult Z.
I check the angle with my brass loupe.
This is the archive.
But under the bench, where the stone dust settles thickest...
There is the other drawer.
Rough oak. No handle.
You use your fingernails to pull it free.
Before dawn, I wrap them in sailcloth.
The air changes at the bottom of the hill.
From mineral and earth to salt and fish.
The mist is cold on the skin.
The dock smells of tar and wet rope.
The sailors don't want 'Hope.'
They want a talisman for the long dark.
A word to hold in the fist when the waves get high.
A hard sound for a hard life.
They say it wards off bad luck.
They pay in foreign coins.
Back in the workshop, the sun is not yet up.
The drawer slides shut.
The dust settles over it again.
The next stone is for 'Fornicate'.