Grandfather’s Time
In the pre-dawn light
The caged canary sings.
Miners like random clumps of clay
In iron cages descend.
Carbon lights’ flickering tongues
Illumine sharp shining
Glistening anthracite coal.
Their veins await extraction,
An explosion of drills and axes,
Hollow blackgold veins.
A cacophony of ethnic voices
Mingle with the dust mist.
The shift whistle blows.
Iron cages ascend with
The underground farmers.
Occasionally
A skein of geese
Fly overhead.
Their spirits soar.
Friday night brings
The seanchi* to
grandfather’s store.
Fortified with poteen,
Their dreams renewed
For a better tomorrow.
- Seanchi (pronounced shawn-key): The one who knows the old stories
