Carving:  The act of using tools to shape something from a material by scraping away portions of that material; to decorate or form something by cutting or chipping.


We do it all the time.

We create the new by

chipping away at the old.

Museums abound with carvings

of bone, gourd, ivory, stone and wood.

But visitors see only what is left

of the original material.

The rest is thrown away or swept

from the workroom floor.

A stick, whittled by an old man

becomes a pipe while slivers and curls

of bark fall to the ground.

Pieces of ivory are transformed into a necklace

with shards and dust left on the workbench.

Life is prolonged as a surgeon

excises cancerous cells from the

margins of healthy tissue.

Children create faces at Halloween

by carving pumpkins, removing

the insides and slicing out pieces

to make holes for the eyes, nose and smile.


But some carvings may not last.

Carcinoma can recur and pumpkins

become the interest of ants.

The block of ice at a wedding

so carefully sculptured as a swan

begins to melt as soon as it is complete.

Relationships, works in progress,

change after years of chipping away.

And as any carver will attest, once you

go too far, it is not so easy to add,

you can only subtract.


William Ogden Haynes is a poet from Alabama who was born in Michigan and grew up a military brat.  He is the author of Points of Interest (2012) and Uncommon Pursuits (2013). William has published over a hundred poems and short stories in literary journals, and his work is frequently anthologized.