from 1937 ad by climax molybdenum co.
. . . better loving
. . . through improved tensile
strength, ductility, and
corrosion resistance.
Modern Metallurgy
November 1964
by
Ellen Wade Beals
Beer
scum slag of milled ore
on the
floor of Urad Valley
where
men crave sunshine
in
dank, tight spaces. Shift
over,
these smudged grubs make
up for
loss, gulping air, light,
beer,
the behind-the-ear
musk of
any girl just pretty enough.
Leadville,
town with a heart of molybdenum,
made
the introductions. They met at the bakery;
she was
powdered with flour. They ate
cookies
among the moneyed aspen,
air
thin as an old woman’s handkerchief.
* * *
Despite
the upheaval of lung slugs
and the
clank of bed rail and puke dish,
he
recalls going down, under Red Mountain
Sometimes
he wouldn’t wash
and her
smell would be with him,
on his
beard. Now he’s bald and ashen
from 20
years of mines, Pall Malls, and reefer.
The
crescent scar, where his chin met a drill bit,
smiles
down and she wonders whether
she
imagined him nod. Amid the shuffle
of
soles on linoleum, his cough tries again
to find
itself, weak as mountain air.
* * *
Something
crinkles in the couch
cushion.
She retrieves the pack of smokes,
hidden
after his diagnosis, the gold
cellophane
to mark her place in A Pocket Full
of Rye
stocking
seam pulled, they stare at her
like
two old comedians.
Amid a
wheeze of expiration, she wonders
had
Agatha Christie ever loved,
rock
for pillow, moss blanket,
the
moon his miner’s light.
* * *
Pneumatic
breathing from another room
provides
the score as you
complete
the family health history,
checking
diseases that apply: cancer, emphysema,
naiveté.
Now imagine mining:
First
pick with all your weight behind you.
Wedge
the crack. Place caps strategically.
Blow.
Squeezed in your hand is pyrite, fool’s gold,
good
luck charm since sixth grade,
a
nugget big as a turkey heart,
you
hope to feel the pulse of stone.
~ first published in Halogen (2000)
