08/24/2022
Jenny Townsend
Strangers are walking down my roads
From a world I cannot understand.
They murmur of moons
And space
And time.
When I lived these were symbols
Not rock underfoot
Not things touched and turned over
By the hand of man.
God was closer than stars
And we wept less at death.
We lived
But not long
And were patient.
Men reached down then
Down into the earth
Chipping at old rock
Hauling the crushed ore
In slow iron cars
Sure
That Promethean labor
Would be rewarded with gold
I died in March
Too cold to chip a hole in the earth
And waited with final patience
For a grave dug in the roots
Of a reborn spring.
A year passed
And the mine
And finally the people.
All that lived within the town were wind and memories.
Now strangers walk my roads
The old mine trails
Breaking a silence
That like grass
Has grown over the frenzy
Of past hopes
Needs, fears.
The tailings remain
Rubble of dreams
Young hands touch
But do not know
Can never understand
The price we paid for a mountain 🏔
