The Shine of Anthracite

The shine of anthracite
Comes from the blood,
Deep in the blood
That flows through
Fields once hydro-mined
Where nothing grows
Except the green bamboo
and white birch.
Where not even the blackbirds
Would fly over.
 
It flows past the coal dust mesas,
Their ashy residue woven into
Our clothing, where once
The soft shoulder of charcoal
Collapsed and I cut my
Wrist on a piece of shale as I
Disappeared into an oblivion of
Dust, and mining detritus.
 
It flows past the silvery slag piles
Of broken slate where we would
Hunt for fern fossils under the
Branding light that ancestors
Saw through pin holes without light.
 
The shine of anthracite flows
Past the Higher Up park
Where we would run and play
Among the old oaks and maples
That filled our bellies with their
Oranges and reds and yellows.
 
It flows past the bronze Mona Lisa statue
At the bottom of the mile-long town
Where you have to take a right turn
To get to Danny’s-Drive-In
Where mother would send us to
Buy the best cherry milk shakes,
Cheeseburgers and fries.
 
And in between all of this…
In between it all,
it flows from every
Tongue that speaks in a
bit of a brogue
with vowels as flat as pancakes.