Sawdust Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Sawdust from yesterday's buildings, long since vacuumed and
thrown into dust bins, leaving no traces of doing anything
good for anyone.

Finding nothing left of their essence, wondering how anything
was created or made from wooden tables and chairs.

Seated around the table so delicately, reminding anyone who
steps inside that they once seated a family long ago.

Introducing everlasting places in centuries of yesterday,
hoping to hold onto some semblance in the future of their
actual purposes in life.

Sharing the wonder with anyone curious enough to ask.