The dresser was heavy a dark solid oak

The dresser was heavy, a dark, solid oak,

until the wood groaned and the silence just broke.

It wouldn't go through, it was three inches wide,

so I’m taking the blade to its stubborn old pride.

The rhythm is jarring, a back-and-forth heat,

while the sawdust piles up near my sock-covered feet.

I hit a dead nail and the steel gave a scream,

cutting right through the middle of an old, dusty dream.

Now it’s two separate pieces on a stained, ugly rug,

like a body that’s missing a final, deep hug.

I’m hacking at history just to make it fit in,

to a room that is smaller than the places I've been.