Old ways,
Dead ways.
Carried like a torch –
Roughneck rednecks,
Logger talk.
Rife with egregious wrongs,
Broken histories.
Sawdust in my veins,
Poison in my lungs.
How many times,
Were we hairstrings away from death?
What little,
Our lives worth!
Mountain men,
Yearning for better lives,
Fiber.
Chainsaws.
Cliffside memories,
Of dead-heat days.
Walking nine clicks up the logging road,
To the top landing.
Wanting more,
Than black moly grease stains –
And back problems.
Machine-jostle puzzle boxes.
Vertebrae in knots.
Swedish stoves.
When the collapse comes,
What will we suddenly be worth?
Us hick savants,
Neurodivergent geniuses?
When we have infinite time.
Vast wealth.
Can begin to fix the world,
One problem at a time.
We need to value our survival,
With so many dead.
Training our grit,
Honoring our dead.
Honoring Our Dead.
