How to Rouse a Pewter Sky

Start at the edges

where it begins to fold

into frozen pond,

run your fingers slowly

between that tiny seam of earth and sky,

warm gradually,

feel for the ember,

it's under thin ice,

press it to your palm

allow that cool rind of doubt to soften

wrap it thrice around

your first thought after waking,

blow them both a kiss

with swish of swallow

it can scatter stupid notions

about brittle and hope and winter.

there, already

this steely mood shifts,

pewter sky to morning robe;

the rest is duck soup.

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2020 Pandemic Journey Day 44

May 4, 2020 Today’s idea – What has the fog of our modern conveniences begat? I read an article last night published in 1950 by Berton Roueche’ titled The Fog . In October 1948, a toxic smog settled on the borough of Donora, PA. This town is tucked away on a meander of the Monongahela River in the Allegheny Mountains. During that time, it was home to three huge mills, a steel plant, and a zinc and sulfuric acid plant. The towering factory stacks of these industries pushed out thick plumes of coal smoke all day and all week. Also, given the town’s proximity to the river, boats and trains added their emission to the cocktail. To seal the deal, Donora sits in the topography of secluded bluffs and hills that allow for little or no wind to carry the smoke and fumes out of town. So the place was known to be a smutty, smokey mess, tolerated by residents who referred to the sulfurous stench as the smell of money. On this weekend in October, a thermal inversion put a tighter li...

Covid19 Journey Day 20

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Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend

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What the Muses Leave Behind

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