I stare at the empty hole...
Gone in a weekend, a gap tooth on a quiet street
Did it have a salvage team? Scavengers for good
Fly away with dripping streaks of insulation
Crows ripping flesh from the body
A raccoon turning a shiny doorknob around in tiny hands
Silver screws hidden in a rat's nest across town
120 years brought to its knees
Limbs torn away, skin ripped off
Strong machinery, cruel tools, frantic excavation
Scrapping through the dirt for the last of the bones
Concrete cartilage hidden in the dirt
Claws digging through grab the last timbers of life
The need to eradicate, a space of non-existence
Eliminating the dignity of renovation rebirth
No chance at restoration or reincarnation
Far from recovery, beyond death
Leaving us with an empty hole
--- Christine Sweeton, Toronto, 2015
No comments:
Post a Comment