<\/p>\n
Diego Rivera: Industrial Detroit Murals <\/p>\n [Baby in the Bulb]<\/p>\n If a child, fetal in the womb [Fruits and Vegetables]<\/p>\n During the first revolution of the human journey, [Four Races]<\/p>\n It is hard work. They call themselves Fire or Air, [Self-Portrait]<\/p>\n He cannot fool himself. The eyes of the Other stare [Conveyer Belt]<\/p>\n On my left you rise, I pull then lean and lift [Manager and Worker]<\/p>\n I am the sound of steam and sweat. [Poison Gas]<\/p>\n Workers put gas in a bomb. They put pyrethroids in a can. [Hands] [Airplanes]<\/p>\n A manager in the aviation capital of America [Half Face, Half Skull]<\/p>\n Sometimes, in the dark, I look [Stamping Machine]<\/p>\n No longer listen to wind through tall grass [People on Tour]<\/p>\n People enjoy the zoo. They say [Engine Dog]<\/p>\n The ancients used a guide for passage [Predella Panels]<\/p>\n During the Hunger March, he saw [Spindle Machine]<\/p>\n My job is about boring holes [La Raza C\u00f3smica]<\/p>\n The Census Bureau does not list [Vaccination]<\/p>\n Whether a child is the son of God [River to Fordlandia]<\/p>\n Some men like to tame the land, some like [Night Foreman]<\/p>\n I am 45th on the assembly line of 84 steps. [Miller Street Bridge]<\/p>\n It is the end of March and bitterly cold. I count <\/p>\n “Diego Rivera: Industrial Detroit Murals” is reprinted from Sometimes You Do Things<\/em> (Aquarius Press; March 2013).<\/p>\n View the murals<\/a>.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sarah Zale<\/a> teaches writing and poetry in Seattle. She holds an MFA in poetry from Goddard College. The Art of Folding: Poems<\/a> <\/em>was inspired by her travels to Israel and Palestine. Sometimes You Do Things: Poems\u00a0<\/em>will be published March 2013 (Aquarius Press, Living Detroit Series). The title poem appears in\u00a0Floating Bridge Review 3. <\/a><\/em>Naomi Shihab Nye\u00a0awarded \u201cSeptember 24, 1930: The Last Hanging in Michigan\u201d as a finalist in the 2011 Split This Rock Poetry Contest<\/em>. Zale\u2019s work is in the anthology Come Together, Imagine Peace<\/em>,<\/a> a finalist for the 2009 Eric Hoffer Award. She lives in Port Townsend.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Diego Rivera: Industrial Detroit Murals a pecha kucha [Baby in the Bulb] If a child, fetal in the womb of a daffodil, growing heart and brain and petals that protect with careless poison, what will we say of … Continue reading
\n a pecha kucha<\/a><\/p>\n
\nof a daffodil, growing heart and brain
\nand petals that protect with careless poison,
\nwhat will we say of spring\u2014the world in bloom?<\/p>\n
\nwe cultivated einkorn, barley, and figs. The second
\nrevolution: steam, gas, and combustion engines.
\nNow, it is coming, a great turning\u2014a new way
\nof listening, of creating. Of understanding seed.<\/p>\n
\nEarth, Water. They answer to North, South, East
\nor West. One says Call me Coal or Iron, Limestone,
\nSand. It does not matter to the heart, the volcano,
\nthe furnace. As they work, they are steel.<\/p>\n
\nback like a mirror. He picks up his palette and brush
\nand paints his own face into the crowd. There he is,
\nthe man with a hat and brown eyes.<\/p>\n
\ninto the wait of the pull to my right. Some hear
\nmusic. Some say machine, some say dance.
\nEvery line of your life crosses your face.<\/p>\n
\nYou are ear. When I smoke after dinner,
\nyou hear me exhale. When I make love
\nto my wife and she calls out my name,
\nyou sigh.<\/p>\n
\nWilfred cannot pronounce it. He says dulce, <\/em>he says
\nhissss.<\/em> He says a spider will jump, run, do flips
\nto its back, roll back to its feet. Repeat till it dies.<\/p>\n
\nIt is an old story. Hands rise, fingers empty
\nand craggy as talons. Some formed as fists.
\nOthers are molten and alive, and of the earth.
\nThey fold around augite, quartz, mica, feldspar.<\/p>\n
\nhires a worker to build a plane. A woman flies
\nto Chicago to see her daughter. An army pilot learns
\nto drive a \u201ctin goose.\u201d A dove enters the open eye
\nof the engine fan, beneath the center blades.<\/p>\n
\ninto the mirror and see my death.
\nI am not afraid. I offer my hand and we go
\nback to bed.<\/p>\n
\nnor ride the pull of ripples across water.
\nSo says this god, our creation. We miss
\nCoatlicue. She with her head of snakes
\nonly asked for human blood.<\/p>\n
\nthe animals act almost human. Men in fedoras
\ntalk to their watches. The Katzenjammer kids
\npull another prank. Foolish,<\/em> say the monkeys,
\nand never laugh.<\/p>\n
\nto the next world. Charon ferried the dead
\nacross the River Styx. Pre-Columbians chose
\na Colima dog. My brother plans to drive himself
\nbehind the wheel of a 4-valve, V-8 engine.<\/p>\n
\neven blood in shades of grey. One day
\nsomeone will paint his story. The world
\nwill know more than the grisade of his life.<\/p>\n
\nin engine blocks. After work, I go out for beers
\nwith Quetzalcoatl, Muhammad, Krishna,
\nSiddhartha, and the new guy, J\u00e9sus.<\/p>\n
\nel espiritu as a race, yet here we are,
\nworking side by side, of one blood.
\nPor mi raza hablar\u00e1 el espiritu.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nor the son of a scientist, aviator, inventor,
\nwe look at him with hope. We are sure we have time
\nto do good things. We are sure we are forgiven.<\/p>\n
\nto tame other men. They forget they are only men
\nand others are not clay. On the third day, he created land,
\nand a river from Detroit to Brazil.<\/p>\n
\nThe guy next to me places an engine. I add a bolt.
\nIt is a game of interchangeable parts. Bricker says
\n93 minutes is too long to build a Tin Lizzie.<\/p>\n
\nthe stairs to the bridge: one, two, three–Joe, <\/em>
\nJoe,<\/em> another Joe.<\/em> Four, Cole.<\/em> Shot and buried
\nwith union on their lips. Black Curtis, five.
\nHis ashes like snow dot the cemetery soil.<\/p>\n