The raindrops remember that day of black water
When their prism teardrops spilled into slurry
As the grownups screamed "Hurry" to small bodies buried,
Forced to stare and to strangle into a smothering death unhurried.
It was just after morning prayer, with the coal tips still perched there,
Seven altogether, stoic and waiting
Like the days of the week. . . . . . . .
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Saturday
Sun . . . . . . . . . . . . . day
But it was not, and yet the sabbath cracked,
Its divine spine broken under the weight of negligence then disbelief.
The raindrops remember . . . . .
The raindrops remember, because they comprise the same water.
Clouds pouring themselves into pulverized coal
And unlike the victims, the droplets ensconced
Rode particles of air to return to the sky
Only to come down again and again.
The raindrops remember . . . . .
The raindrops remember
That water gives us life
And water drowns that life,
That coal gives us warmth
And coal infests the air
And tumbles onto the human frame from tip to toe.
The raindrops remember.
The raindrops remember
That coal warms the body and coal kills the lung,
That water grows the flowers and water floods the meadow,
That tradition keeps us going and tradition keeps the tips in place.
That the child and the shepherd are the clarions of danger,
That when those clarions sound, the engineer is ready to measure,
That every breath is sacrifice and every breath is a gift,
That life is immeasurable beyond any slide rule,
Even when those who rule watch it slide from those they rule.
The raindrops remember.
The raindrops remember.
updated by @nancy-e-wright2: 12/03/16 02:54:52PM
