It all started with my answer to a Craigslist ad a few years ago. I was lucky enough to find a cutting table with tons of storage that was the perfect size for my art studio. When we went to pick it up, it was still full of a large selection of outdated, pastel-colored mat board. Thumbing through it was like paying a visit to the 1980s. Some of the edges were beat up and peeling. I wondered if I could even find a use for it.

The woman explained that it had belonged to her mother-in-law who was now in a nursing home and no longer needed her supplies. She had been a framer.

The daughter-in-law showed me a selection of tools and asked if I knew anyone who would be interested in buying them. I shook my head at the hodge-podge selection, not able to formulate suggestions. I offered to donate the scrap mat to the book arts center where I work. They were happy to load the boxes on top of the table we had nestled into our vehicle.

I delivered the extra scraps as promised, and over the years I’ve been able to use a considerable amount of the full size boards that came with the table. It’s come in handy for all kinds of school and craft projects. I never really went through all of it, and frankly don’t know what might be shoved to the very back of the slats that hold the materials in a vertical position. The woman had been meticulous, it was all sorted by colors, some of it was still in plastic protective wrap.

I was hardly ever going to pull it all out and investigate her selection. I was only ever interested in the table. The materials were just an extra bonus.

But last week, a long and narrow piece of yellowed paper fell away as I moved the remains of the boards around. It had the loveliest cursive handwriting that painstakingly spelled out the words to a lengthy poem. It was clearly a mock-up of a birth announcement the old framer had been designing. The backside had a stork sketched on it, (a very nerdy stork with spectacles), that was balancing a bundle in it’s beak.

It is titled, Longfellow’s Appearance.

I’m hardly a literary critic, and despite being friends with several poets, I rarely feel I have anything to offer by way of feedback when they share their work. All I’ve got is appreciation. Poetry is way above my pay grade.

What strikes me when I read this piece, though, is how much work and effort went into it and that in all likelihood never went any further.

For both writers and artists, the hard truth is that we often invest in projects that don’t turn into much of anything.

In fact at this very moment, I’m moving my home and studio and going through an immense amount of work that I’ve created over the years. I have a toss pile the size of a beaver dam. I’ve grown and changed enough to shed my artistic snake skin. This is a good thing.

I like to think of the framer as someone who had all kinds of important poems that were published in respected places. I like to imagine her as someone who earned a few grants or maybe a fellowship, that she had all the makings of a literary success. Then again, this could be the very first time she’s ever been published. This too, is a nice thought.

There is no name or date that I can credit this to, but I wanted to honor this woman who’ve I’ve begun to think of as my friend, the Unknown Framer. I’m a bit uncertain about the punctuation or that each line should begin with a capital letter, but I’m sharing it exactly as she wrote it, complete with her note, “Hours later,” which I find so endearing, as if she’s reaching back through space and time to tell me, “this poem took me hours.”

I think to myself, I get it sister. I’m putting it out in the world for you.

Longfellow’s Appearance
Author Unknown

One’s name is for a lifetime to carry,
So isn’t it an important task
For the expectant parents to tarry
Upon choosing baby’s title?, we ask.

The deciding factors of which to think
Are the approval of relatives grand,
And you in friendships glorious link
Our choice must also withstand.

Then, too, in years and years ahead
The name must suit the “sprout.”
It must not be too old or new fangled, ’tis said,
Or too long or hard to spell, without doubt.

We must forget old “flames” we once knew
Instead aim for meaning in Greek
And achievement of euphonic soundness pursue
Now, we’ve presented the qualities to seek!

Hours later —

It all seems to leave us quite cold and shaken.
You know you’re the ones to blame!
All the finest of names you’ve already taken,
And left for us Abigail, Horace and Adalbame.

Now if you cut us off without a cent,
And later baby disapproves our choice,
Just remember that we bewilderingly spent
Hours contemplating names of girls and boys.

We’re finally giving up in desperation,
With bloodshot eyes and wrinkled apparel,
To burn up the list, apply respiration,
And pull out this name from a barrel.

Just hope you’ll agree
___________________ is OK for the Ken Henry pedigree.

Date of birth ___________________________
Weight ____________________________
Height __________________________