The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 1/4/09

[BlueIris]

"Chrysotile"

Miners trammed ore,
packed burro trains from Ash Creek,
loaded deposits on boxcars

headed for Hoover Dam,
for gaskets and insulation,
theater curtains, pipe and tiles,

paper and millboard.
Quarried asbestos
the only name fit for this town.

Filaments of serpentine won't burn.
Chatoyant, hollow and pliable,
incombustible linen, mountain leather.

Inflammable tensile strands
catch in the tissue of breath—
lung-burden known after latency.

Nothing of worth without blasting cap
and pickaxe. Miners' throats
turn dark as canyon walls,

drip-flooded cavern.
Hell was already on earth—
they were digging away from it.

—Keith Ekiss

[CaliforniaPeggy]

1. My dear BlueIris...

Ah, how sad...

A beautiful poem about asbestos...

Doesn't seem possible, but here it is.

Wonderful use of metaphors...

Thank you!

:hug:

[BlueIris]

2. I'm somewhat fascinated by our relationship to asbestos and similar carcinogens.

My grandfather died of advanced asbestosis, so it's an "issue" with me.