I can no more describe the shrill
and hum of the Powerhouse stones than I could
bring the sweat (and blood), boot worn,
to your ears. I cannot mimic
the electro-static surge, as it is yet
My mouth will not make these sounds
that refuse sleep, the way the gangs
of scab workers refused sleep even under guard.
Or how the chains rattle when pulled
from their high-ceilinged hooks, locked down
in the Welfare room, now waylaid to rubble.
I cannot crack, cold, like the kettle
full with the memory of then - new
steel. I cannot make these sounds.
I can only tell you that they are there
and they are less
with each passing.
Unsounding: Photo by Haze McElhenny
On visiting the site of the Bethlehem Steel during the deconstruction phase - 1999 - 2001