- draft one -
A random thought;
miner's lament
he waits
he extricates a small chunk, weighted
gold gathered from the depths
of a dry and depleted earth
his soul labours,
his blistered hands tired,
it celebrates conquests
warriors complete soulless lives
he waits
animals slaughtered
to produce these impressive uniforms
a life is lost to produce its shine,
the ground soaks up its blood,
and its seed
tears roll
he waits
tears roll
they forget him
tears roll
he dies inside,
mortified, he feels ridiculed,
tomorrow is not coming
tears
no celebration,
his family hungers,
the infant mourns
not yet forgotten then
each day is perilous,
he still seeks the blessing
from the forgotten ancestor
tears,
tears of joy.
- one -
If a lone feather fell from the sky,
like a paper plane wafting down
from a tree house where a quiet boy
has been known to hide,
you might think message or perhaps
mischief, not just some midair
molting of a bird.
But what if many feathers fell
from a place seemingly higher
than any boy could ever climb
beyond the top of Savage Mountain
and obscured by clouds.
What might you think then?
A flock of birds smithereened
by hunters? By a jet?
—Stephen Dunn, “Feathers.”
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