Poem: Workshops


This is where the things are made,
in the midst of mess.
Old paint.
Old tools, here and there a new one
still has it’s shine.
Spare parts. Leftover from past projects.
Broken things, not quite broken enough
to jettison.
A space to work. Good light.
This is where things are made.

About this poem.

A poem about places things are made, studios, workshops, and about life. Poems are never about one thing.

The picture was taken at the Hancock Shaker Village in Mass.


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