Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Like yesterday's book, this too came from the library of the late Russell Pawlak.
I started reading it at bedtime soon after acquiring it. You can see in the photo the protruding edge of a Talking Leaves bookmark peeking over the top. It's looking at you right now. What is it thinking? Who is that person there, staring at the computer screen? Perhaps there are five or even ten of you reading this blog at once. The bookmark sees all. It feels exposed and vulnerable, but also protected by the book that's wrapped around it. Maybe it tries to slide itself down a little further. Not all the way, just enough so that it can see you without you seeing too much of it. There, that's better. Nice and comfy. Now stop looking.
Our little bookmark rests between pages 42 and 43, suggesting that that is where I left off.
from Turtle Island (page 42)
Black Mesa Mine #1
Wind dust yellow cloud swirls
northeast across the fifty-foot
graded bulldozed road,
white cloud puff,
juniper and pinyon scattered groves
–firewood for the People
heaps of wood for all
at cross-streets in the pueblos,
ancient mother mountain
pools of water
pools of coal
pools of sand
buried or laid bare
Solitary trucks go slow on grades
writhes around the tires
and on a torn up stony plain
a giant green-and-yellow shovel
whirs and drags
house-size scoops of rock and gravel
it will tumble in its hole
Five hundred yards back up the road
a Navajo corral
of stood up dried out poles and logs
all leaned in on one angle,
gleaming in the windy April sun.