The Sago Mine Disaster---January 2, 2006

When I started to write this post

I began to abbreviate,
as in "Jan. 2, 2006,"
but this is not a moment

to abbreviate anything.

Spell it out. Scream it. Cry it off.

On this day,
January 2,

in the Year of Our Lord 2006,
a blast in coal mine
in Sago,
near Buckhannon
in Upshur County,
in West Virginia,

in Appalachia,
not far from where I once hunted
and near where I once did flood relief

and a body search,
trapped thirteen miners underground
for two days.

Twelve perished in all

but our memories.
Twelve good men died.
Another good man made it out.

It's called a disaster

because we abbreviate.
If we had to say "murder"
we could not 
come to terms
with what that means.
It's called perishing

because we cannot say
that contracting out

and shell companies
and multinational corporations
make Appalachia a colony
and they will

and do

despoil the land

and crush the soul
and kill workers
if they have to.

We perform a ritual

with our wounding

and call it work.

We perform a ritual

with our trauma

and call it politics.

We perform a ritual

with our dispossession

and say we need

the jobs.

There were warnings enough.

Sago was not safe,
this was well-known.
That first shift went in

when it was dark,
just 6:30 in the morning,
when the kids are getting up for school,
when the coffee might be on,
when someone might be
whispering a prayer,
and then that mine blew up.
The shift never made it

to the face of the mine.

Don't abbreviate. Tell the story.
There were at least forty-seven dead
in the mines that year, or so
my memory tells me.

My conscience has

much more to say.

I was 2550 miles away,
give or take quite a few heartbreaks,
and could not tell anyone what I felt.
For once Oregon's gray cold matched
how my heart felt.

For once I was 

silent and began to understand

miles as heartbeats

and tears.   

Forty-seven killed in the mines that year.
I repeat that because my heart
breaks like ice, and there is anger
in my hands. There was me once telling
an Assistant Secretary of Labor
what death in the mines meant

in a room full of older mine workers.

They knew better than me.
My voice and heart cracking,

and I felt so stupid,
but the room took a breath,
the walls took a breath,
and then those with me
stood up and applauded
and he made a hasty exit.

But on January 2, 2006
I was silent.

Prayer after prayer,
but I knew
that all would not be well.

Why do we argue over how precious life is?
Why is it policy that someone must die
so that my lights go on?

Why is every light in the house on

and yet we're living in darkness?
And why did I feel stupid trying to ask

these questions, so afraid of crying

in front of others?

And why

and how

did those others

feel me?      

Our United Mine Workers of America held strong
and would not be bullied. Sago had been
a non-union mine, but at times like these
hearts can beat as one.

I say their last names:

Anderson
Bennett
Bennett
Groves
Hamner
Helms
Jones
Lewis
Toler
Ware
Weaver
Winans

I say their names again.

Mister...

And again.

Brother...

I do not abbreviate.