buzz-saw

Published On Mogul 

Photo © L.R. Heartsong

The buzz-saw
grits and grinds,
metal teeth rip skin,
chewing and spitting
parts of bones and marrow.

Fumes spew smoke-trails
for miles,
so all can see my death,
my demise.

And no one seems to mind
that each tear into flesh
is pain,
and that the dust
is my blood,
falling onto the grass,
laying there,
as if
it is nothing.

My cries are not heard by humans,
my voice is muted,
but the sound of the buzzing of the saw,
the heat of the blade
boiling in the sun,
the sweat of the hands
of the man,
driving that blade deep
into
my
very
soul -

The core of this Earth.

Someone stop this -
please, they are killing me,
someone hear me cry.

With each buzz of the blade,
my eyes grow more dim,
my breath is caught.

My God -
I am bleeding
right into the roots
of where I was born.

The grass holds me dearly,
- God bless the green -
the dandelions tilt their weary heads
and tears turn to puffs of cotton
flowing on Spring-times breeze.

And the hands that hold the blade
have mercy on them,
for they are but a vehicle.

And a lone tear escapes
from the eye of the hand of the man
cutting my limbs to pieces,
and it falls upon my shoulder
now bare, once covered in bark.

And my goodness,
the tears are hidden
beneath the cap of a hat,
shielding the human eye from sun
or perhaps,
from the stares of onlookers -

who may deem him mad
for having a heart.

***This was inspired by the first line in this article and experience written by L.R. Heartsong [River] called "Saving the Grandmother"

Photo © L.R. Heartsong
Words © Susan Marie
On Soundcloud HERE