The carver

I didn’t agree.

Carving a tree seemed heartless to me.
But you had gone into he-man mode.
Your face was stony while you carved.
Focused.
Relentless.

For all that, we have a small heart
out of place on a somber tree.

I might have said no.
But I didn’t.

You might have understood me.
But you didn’t.

That heart is not a tribute.
It’s a scar.