Teresa Sparks

it is a reminder



we each speak though we have no mouths
we speak of dailies, of records, of planets
young and inexperienced. we must
say to each of them, this is how to die,
this is what a life means, smokestacks spew flowers
seven died building it, most were your cousins

the metal of them, falling
each day a different funeral, depending on which way
you face, artists are sacred no matter what
they produce, no matter

it is here in the meat of it such things are said
the saying of them is nourishment

go carefully or not at all

what story do we tell today
among the fallen?

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