Aug 2016
The mill reflects in the pond
The pond that fed the dynamo
The dynamo that powered the mill
That fed the people who worked the mill
Who grew sick and old in the mill
Who knew little else other than the mill
That consumed all their worth
That clawed at their children to come within.
Fallow mill: just a reflection in a pond,
Scoured yesterday by evening storm,
Slapping water high upon walls still strong.
A lovely reflection washed and washed again,
Glazed and glazed again to shine
As if there was no past,
No responsibility for the pain.
© 2016
.
The pond that fed the dynamo
The dynamo that powered the mill
That fed the people who worked the mill
Who grew sick and old in the mill
Who knew little else other than the mill
That consumed all their worth
That clawed at their children to come within.
Fallow mill: just a reflection in a pond,
Scoured yesterday by evening storm,
Slapping water high upon walls still strong.
A lovely reflection washed and washed again,
Glazed and glazed again to shine
As if there was no past,
No responsibility for the pain.
© 2016
.
In New England, the old mills of the 18th century have become gentrified to the extent that the great-great grandchildren of those who worked in those mills are now living in those mills in high-priced condominiums. It is indeed strange how time erases the sharp edges of our collective memory so that once where there was brutality there is now gaiety.
(Rhode Island, USA)
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