[Critique Group 2] Leonard's comments on Alice's piece for Sept

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

This is a wonderful poem. The milky white horse  tells the story of  your towns history  with the coal mines. How it poisoned the  waters and changed the color of the horse. Inother wors, it polluted him.  The coalmines were a terrible place to work. I know a little of your history fightingthe mines. The horse doesn’t let you sleep in peace. You have to do somethingabout it. The yellow eyes and lust for gold speaks of the greed that motivatedthe operators of the coal mines. The huge proportions of the horse isemblematic of the  huge influence thatthe coal mines  had  on society. They were gluttons thatoverwhelmed society. The message is left to lobny against the mines. Which youdid. Coal gets in your eyes. You must weep.

 

Ina Dream Came the White, Mine Horse

 

Story Poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

 

 

In adream came the white horse

whosestory Margie told.

Themassive, milky white horse,

whohad worked at the coal mine

thatbordered our property line,

gallopedgracefully into my dream

totell me the stories 

ofthe turn-of-the-century mines,

the Indiana mines of theearly 1900s, and much more.

 

Bornin Italy,in 1879, my grandfather--

who,despite his 6’1”-height, 

workedthe mines for too many years--

insistedwith only a light Italian accent and a couple of tears,

“Noneof my four sons will ever set foot

in acoal mine.”

Nonedid.

 

Yet,the massive, milky white horse

fromthe old mine near my house

trotsboldly into my dream.

“Iknow your story.  Go away!  Go away!

I donot have an apple nor hay for you,” I say.

 

Hewhinnies with laughter and does not obey.

Themassive, milky white horse speaks in my dream,

“Don’tyou know I eat coal dust?

Doyou know why my eyes are yellow?

Becausefrom all those miners,

Icaught the lust for gold.”

Hewhinnies with laughter, and my body turns cold.

 

“Forgetthis pretense of the present tense,”  I snap.

“Margietold me you drowned in that old pond—

thepond, near the shale hill, our mountain.”

 

“Oh,so, you do know why I am

somassive and milky white.”

 

“Ifyou had really worked in the mine,

youwouldn’t be so tall and white.

Justgo!  Go, and let me sleep.”

 

“Listen,I was not always a horse of twenty hands;

as acolt, I was a white or cream.

Ofcourse, when I worked, I grew gray and black 

fromthe ever-present coal dust.  

Howthat life weighed down my back!

But,after all those years 

ofwashing in that old pond,

Iturned a milky white

sothat I could take flight

intoyour dream to tell you:

lobbyagainst Cavallo Coal Company—

theywill blast and scrape and sour

yourpretty, little town.”

 

Ilie back down, but cannot sleep.

Wipingcoal dust from my eyes, I begin to weep…
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