Tuesday, September 21, 2010

The Price of Progress

          I'm not sure what "progress" is.   I feel a certain sadness when I see a scene such as this: an old chimney stands abanboned, grown over with weeds and vines.  And ugly black fabric is tacked into the earth to prevent erosion while the heavy equipment moves in to level off the  land in anticipation of building... what? Another empty strip mall?  A row of ticky-tacky houses which won't be standing after twenty years.
      The old fireplace and chimney look massive and well-built.  What ever happened to the home they provided with warmth? Did it crumble? Burn? Why didn't the owners rebuild? Sad.
     Here's a poem, written by my brother, Larry - about forty years ago - it could be the lament of a rejected lover or an old abandoned homesite.
                   Gold of the Sea
               I stand naked close to you,
               But you've forgotten time since lost.
               I ask you, "Won't you touch me?"
              With a laugh, you tear open my chest,
               wrench out my heart,
               and, drain my blood into a crystal cup;
               then drink it.
               Every drop.
                                                                                Shalom Y'all,      Twyla

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