The only light was the lamp,
or the glow from the mantrap,
day after day, they would burrow,
the fruits of their labour, that light.
And most days they’d emerge
from the dark, squinting at the light.
Most days, they’d emerge from dark,
feeling sweaty and dirty and used.
Most days they said they’d come,
but that day they left for the mines -
some, having waited whole lives,
having longed to follow in footsteps.
Yet, none of them did it themselves –
all their lives they spent in pursuit.
There, in the mines, for families,
they became a family themselves.
Their community revealed for all
in the minutes, and hours, and days,
in the dark, in the light of the lamp.
Posted in Creative Writing Portfolio
