Acanary In The Coalmines Poem by Birgit Bunzel Linder

From this mid-autumn moon
The weaving maid throws
threads of golden sheen;
From the serene copper plate
With specks of silhouettes,
Gazing from a dark sea,
Like a canary
In the coalmines,
At hazy eyes,
a mellow glow.
This annum mirabilis
is all the same.
And so am I.
Yet only one of us
seems truly sad.
I wander in your white dust.
Children of violence.
Children of abuse.
Children of life gone askew.
Compared to the moon's witness
on this quaking earth,
my imprints are faint,
like the sooty shadow
of the dust fly
my brother carelessly flicked off
my starched white blouse.