Joann Snow Duncanson                           and Fred Samuels

To Spade the Earth, by Fred Samuels

ON THE "DUMP" Black and white bodies Stripped to the waist, Glistening in the half-light, Breathing dust, Working on the "dump" At the Parcel Post. Chanting and moving     Together Mailhandler slave crew Opens sacks, feeds packages To clerk masters below. Quickly now     Together, Faster, faster... Until the belts below Are choked and vomit Packages to the concrete floor. "Stop the belts!" Their leader calls. And above them We laugh and pause For a moment In the dust And half-light.

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Links: The Monadnock Ledger-Transcript Peter E. Randall Publisher New Hampshire Writers Project

TORTOLA SEABIRD I a stranger watch you, tropic seabird, gliding, seeking, eyes intent... Then from above the palm trees you dive, break the warm water, scoop a fish into your plenteous bill. I do not know your name or the name of your fish dinner - this bothers the categorizers and my own left brain. I do know your fluidity of flight, abrupt attack, your beauty, I a stranger.

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