A Chaplain's Tool--Who Knew?

Most of my work

is about fastening
the odd bits and pieces
--flotsam and jetsam--
of fragmented lives.

I use words
to stitch
bind
hook
the disparate
shapes
trying to choose
two scraps that
can tolerate each other
for a breath
just a
breath.

But in my office and on my desk
the tool of the moment
is a small claw
waiting to snatch and tear.

A pile of broken
misshaped metal
bears testament to the leavings
of the staple remover,
a small monument
to bindings ripped out
and fasteners unhooked.

The instructions are simple:
Only one staple per item
unless
it's headed to the 11th floor
where people are sitting
in segregation
or the seventh floor where they
keep a suicide watch.

Staples are fasteners
holding tight,
meant to bring things together.

But staples can poke, cut, maim,
jab, they hurt.
I twist the metal
and build a monument to care.