I wonder what it is like to have a tool
that feels like it’s a part of my hand.
No spirit moves me. It’s just a tool.
Tasks are done. The day slips like sand.
No tool ever feels a part of my hand
though my palm is calloused by steel.
Tasks are done. Evening falls like sand.
A tool, a task, my hand—only these are real.
Though my palm’s been calloused by steel
the sting and sore are just a faded note.
The dust and weight of task and tool is all I feel,
the molasses of time, the rust of rote.
The sting and sore are just a faded note
when tasks are done, days gone like sand
while molasses time, the rust of rote
and steel make leather of my hand.
Tasks are done in days lost like sand.
No spirit moves me. It’s just a tool.
We work, this heavy steel in my hand.
They are always two: my hand, this tool.
—Ujjvala Bagal Rahn
Ujjvala Bagal Rahn is a chemist and poet who lives with her husband in Savannah, Georgia. Her first collection of poems is called Red Silk Sari.