The Miner

November 26, 2015

The Miner

His face opened like a late blue evening sky when the moon and the sun share the sky-space.

I am a miner with a tiny light on my forehead and grit on my face.
Pouncing on the stone, deeper and deeper yet in search of gold, I forget the surface.
Only when the hunger grips my stomach, and makes my muscles tremble,
I then remember to come back up

It was a long day, my hands are black and weighing my back, the painfully shriveled flag of my hopes.
In the deep shaft, an elevator rises towards the outside crust of the earth.
Yellow, tiny in a cage of white tin, the canary comes with me.
I try to remember the eyes, the mouth, the way he nods; a bit of a chin nudge towards the world.
My memory like my breathing, is slightly rough, I need water and I need love.

The cables grind and whimper, the metal sheets of the cabin rattle as we inch slowly up.
We all stand up still, silent, the workers and the bird, weary, numb of mind as we climb.
We were all jubilant when we got hired, a job! survival! hopes of paying debts,filling the fridge and doing the right thing.
Over days and months, the jubilation waned, then, was forgotten. Duty and blind habit keeps us all in this loop.

Then, at long last, the air, the sky.
A breath, another deeper, slower one.
Sounds of low voices and steps in rubber boots,
on the mud, it had rained.
We’re out.

His face opened like a late blue evening where the moon and the sun share the sky-space.

He was there waiting for me.
I shake my torpor, the blood pumps life in my body. My frown, evicted along with my enervation
How can I ever forget?
How can I ever confuse the noise with the music?
Confuse the power to chose with the refusal to see?
Each instant holds all the potentialities.
A kiss on the forehead. Peace. Love.



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