A hammer dreams only of building—
of nails set straight, of shelter rising,
of rhythm and purpose in steady hands.
But pass it along, just slightly askew,
and it forgets its gentle ambitions.
Steel has no conscience.
It does not choose the wall or the skull,
the frame or the fracture.
It answers only to grip and intention.
A pen can draft a treaty,
or carve hatred into permanence.
Ink flows just the same—
it does not pause to ask
what story it stains into the world.
Even fire, ancient and faithful,
will warm or will consume
depending on who feeds it,
who cages it,
who lets it run wild.
There is no innocence in the tool itself—
only potential, waiting quietly
like a question without a voice.
It is the hands—
unsteady, careless, cruel, or kind—
that turn creation into ruin,
or ruin back into something worth keeping.
Thank-you for reading.
Brenda Marie
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Fascinating poem of important objects, Brenda, so well written!
Thank-you Tim
My pleasure, Brenda. 😍
Brenda, this is stunning. You’ve taken something as simple as a hammer and turned it into an entire meditation on agency, intention, and moral weight. The way you move from steel to ink to fire—each stanza building on the last—is so gracefully controlled, and that closing turn (“ruin back into something worth keeping”) lands like a quiet, earned thunder. This isn’t just a poem about tools. It’s a poem about what we choose to build, and what we dare to rebuild. Truly beautiful work. 🌷🤝
Thank you so much for this—your reading really moved me. I love how you traced that thread from steel to ink to fire; that progression felt intuitive when I was writing, but seeing it reflected back with such care gives it a whole new clarity for me.
What you said about agency and rebuilding especially resonates. I think I was circling that idea without fully naming it, so it means a lot that it came through. And that closing line was one I wrestled with for a while, so hearing that it landed for you—“quiet, earned thunder” is such a generous way to put it—feels incredibly rewarding.
I’m really grateful you took the time to share this. It’s reflections like yours that make the whole process feel like a conversation rather than something solitary.