Jane's mother came to Jim and Jane's home for Thanksgiving, and she shared family stories. Jane is making poems with those stories. Here is her poem for today.
Ice and Coal
Let¹s say he was crippled in the war
Let¹s say he was good at numbers
and his brother, twelve years his junior raised on farm labor and meat was still able-bodied.
Before the last worst time
while times were good
they bought the ice and coal company
and harvested the heat
from the strip mine along the Middle River.
From the river¹s winter soul they stole the cold and sold them both for a winter nickel or a summer song until the river flooded out the mine then died of thirst in the dirty thirties.
- Jane Flint