Blast Area

blast area

The blast was larger
than anticipated: beds
of limestone can dip
in odd directions.
The ground shook with release.

In the yellow house
next to the quarry,
the crash of a plate rolling
off a plate rail
& onto the tile floor
was followed by a couple
seconds of silence,
then the trucks
yelping into reverse.

The windows were all open.
Raindrops began to blow
against the curtains.
An index finger
resumed its pilgrimage,
dipping into
the hollow at
the base of a throat
too frozen with joy & terror
to make a sound.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

4 Comments


  1. Thanks. I didn’t like it too well yesterday, but this morning it doesn’t seem so bad.

    Reply

  2. I haven’t been reading you for all that long, but this is my favorite poem yet. It makes one’s adrenaline rush to read it.

    Reply

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