Sawman

[…] In the very furthest part A clearing, lately cut, circled a sawmill, A little shack that buzzed until it shook, And breathed rankly of elm. I walked around; The other side was open, whence I watched The fat back of the sawman as he fed.

Early in the century, Momma […] sold lunches to the sawmen in the lumberyard […] and the seedmen at the cotton gin […]

A good sawman can take out eight cords a day, but Frank, driven by the knot of Jackson anger and wildness that drove all his people, could do more.