Quarry
There is
concrete and coal moving
The
yellow trucks you had as a child
The air,
birdless is choked on it
The
sound is a grind of gears, a shriek
Of
suspension, a doublet of knocking
As the unstoppable
trucks lumber by.
Nearby a
woman lays offered to the sky
Every
part of her exposed and open on
The fertile
earth. Naked on the green and
Gravel
land where people walk on her
Strolling
the path of her arms, her legs
To her
womb where the sit and shelter
And hold
fast to reach her eyes by stairs
And to
her head finally to comprehend the
World
from her prone prison below the sky
Ears
choked with sound, burnt orange to
her
smell and her mouth pressed closed
with
chalk and rubble and a wire muzzle.
There is
a lull of eerie expectant quiet
Before a
sharp crackle and thud in the pit
Explodes
the rock, raining fresh stones
Smoke
rising and dust offering even cover,
People
and the endless trucks still
Waiting
for the dust to settle.
James A
Bullion, May 2014
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