A poem from Mathias Svalina

The Denver Post - - NEWS -

Den­ver Post Read­ers June 2017 You are walk­ing in the desert be­fore dawn when you come to great pit. The pit ex­tends as far as you can see. It is full of scaf­fold­ing & cranes & half-built sky­scrapers & new con­dos. Work­ers in hard­hats & or­ange vests rush about, lift­ing beams & dig­ging trenches & weld­ing things to other things. They are build­ing a brand new city in the pit, a city of right an­gles & white paint & freshly cut stone. A city of to­mor­row. Then the sun rises over the hori­zon & sun­light beams into the pit. Where the sun­light hits it melts the pitc­ity, the half-built struc­tures turn­ing into wa­ter, the scaf­fold­ing col­laps­ing into pud­dles. They have built pit-city out of ice. They must have known it would melt when the sun came out. You de­cide to write a song about this, a song called “The Bal­lad of Pit City.” Be­fore you can write the song you need to find a gui­tar. You walk down into Pit City, hop­ing to find a mu­sic store or a pawn shop, but all the build­ings have melted. The work­ers are hud­dled in the shady edges of the pit. You walk up to a worker & ask where you might find a gui­tar. Not here, the worker says, not now. But you should try to­mor­row. We re­build this city ev­ery night once the sun goes down. You thank the worker & walk through the flooded pud­dles of the melted city. And who is this per­son walk­ing be­side you, car­ry­ing a bun­dle of fire­wood? It is enough to know they are a friend.

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