Monday, February 2, 2015

A Famine Scene Remembered


November, month of charcoal cloud
slung low to the earth;
labourers hunched double,
grubbing for the bright potatoes
that scuttle, like mice, back into the sodden soil.  

Scrabbling fingers chase each fugitive light
 with the desperation of the starving. 

I rest a moment on the spade,
my fingers on the shaft  
now rough with working the same soil;
my fingers with their DNA inside them.

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