Grandpa, the carpenter
by Dianne Kellogg

Darn o fy nghalon…dere yma*
“Little piece of my heart…come here.”
Two hearts beat in rhythm,
the infant stops crying—
rests on the baritone’s chest—
chants of the Psalms,
the manifest Song of Solomon,
feels the womb has expanded its nest into the world,
cradled in the hands of the carpenter.

Cariad, dere yma
“Beloved, come here.”
Hold fast to the gnarled hands of
the carpenter—
make dancing, flying, patter-feet
then swoosh alight on broad shoulders
for a ride.
Don’t look down, the drop is far,
the hill is steep,
rhythmic steps; gravel, pavement, gravel, pavement.

Cariad, dere yma
Hold fast to the resting hands of
the carpenter.
Feel the bristle hairs on the back of
fidgeting fingers brush the tears
from a supple cheek
in rhythm with small fingers on closing eyes.

Hold fast to the gentle hand of the Carpenter.
Listen to the voice of the Carpenter.
Darn o fy nghalon…. dere yma

*Italicized Welsh verses translated in the line below.