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Mar Monte

September 3, 2017

2017-06-20 10.22.28.jpg

The hole was dug,
Neat and square.
The boards were laid.
Hands worked here,
They placed these boards,
Bracketed the corners
To frame the pour.
The barrel of the truck spun through the dark of night.

The foundation was poured,
The sludge made solid.
The gray of concrete reassures.
You can trust gray.

Sludge filled the square.
This all happened long ago.
It dried smooth,
Ready to be
Dressed in hardwood. Danced upon.

A grandparent, a great grandparent.
Your people were married here, in this building.
The pour was hard and strong. No cracks but the vents placed for pressure.
Eighty years go by with a gasp and a cough and a sigh

And the birth of three generations.

You return here, where you have never been, but they have, and you are
The legacy of the pour.

The cracks have grown. The vent was not enough.
You look upon the crumbling verandah
And you know that you, that we, have a responsibility
Not only to live
But to mend.

But you have grown in a different age
And have not built those skills.

Greg Blake Miller
 June 19, 2017

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