The blast was larger
than anticipated: beds
of limestone can dip
in odd directions.
The ground shook with release.
In the yellow house
next to the quarry,
the crash of a plate rolling
off a plate rail
& onto the tile floor
was followed by a couple
seconds of silence,
then the trucks
yelping into reverse.
The windows were all open.
Raindrops began to blow
against the curtains.
An index finger
resumed its pilgrimage,
dipping into
the hollow at
the base of a throat
too frozen with joy & terror
to make a sound.
I really like this one, Dave.
Haunting & unsettling – but pleasingly so!
Thanks. I didn’t like it too well yesterday, but this morning it doesn’t seem so bad.
I haven’t been reading you for all that long, but this is my favorite poem yet. It makes one’s adrenaline rush to read it.