Following the fossils. Trace their bony limb. This one, a plant, perfectly straight and fern-like. Have you tempted this fate? Asked yourself why you are so afraid of being trapped without air? Why should we hope for the miners, buried for 10 days, so many miles under? I would rather be crushed. Mortar and pestle. My body become a rock, petrified, hardening more with every touch. Like the miners: the closer they are to being rescued, the further they fall from the opening.
3 comments:
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I enjoy this poem so much that I am mentioning it in a blog I'm preparing that includes my top ten Colorado poet blog choices. I hope you'll stop by http://denver.yourhub.com/~musingsoftabithadial this weekend and let me know what you think. Thanks very much.
thank you, tabitha! I appreciate your kind words.
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