[Critique Group 2] poetry submission for September 24, 364 words

Alice Massa alicejmassa at gmail.com
Thu Sep 17 23:58:38 EDT 2020


*In a Dream Came the White, Mine Horse*

Story Poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

In a dream came the white horse

whose story Margie told.

The massive, milky white horse,

who had worked at the coal mine

that bordered our property line,

galloped gracefully into my dream

to tell me the stories

of the turn-of-the-century mines,

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

Born in Italy, in 1879, my grandfather--

who, despite his 6’1”-height,

worked the mines for too many years--

insisted with only a light Italian accent and a couple of tears,

“None of my four sons will ever set foot

in a coal mine.”

None did.

Yet, the massive, milky white horse

from the old mine near my house

trots boldly into my dream.

“I know your story.Go away!Go away!

I do not have an apple nor hay for you,” I say.

He whinnies with laughter and does not obey.

The massive, milky white horse speaks in my dream,

“Don’t you know I eat coal dust?

Do you know why my eyes are yellow?

Because from all those miners,

I caught the lust for gold.”

He whinnies with laughter, and my body turns cold.

“Forget this pretense of the present tense,”I snap.

“Margie told me you drowned in that old pond—

the pond, near the shale hill, our mountain.”

“Oh, so, you do know why I am

so massive and milky white.”

“If you had really worked in the mine,

you wouldn’t be so tall and white.

Just go!Go, and let me sleep.”

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

as a colt, I was a white or cream.

Of course, when I worked, I grew gray and black

from the ever-present coal dust.

How that life weighed down my back!

But, after all those years

of washing in that old pond,

I turned a milky white

so that I could take flight

into your dream to tell you:

lobby against Cavallo Coal Company—

they will blast and scrape and sour

your pretty, little town.”

I lie back down, but cannot sleep.

Wiping coal dust from my eyes, I begin to weep.

Number of words: 364

First written on August 24, 2013, Saturday

Revised on September 17, 2020, Thursday, for Group 2 critique session

* * *

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