Poem: Paw Paw( Appalachia's Last Stand

[stephengodfrey]

The black lung bit him to the core.
Stripped him down to skin and bone.
I remember your big hands, calloused,
But loving to a little boy.

I never heard you complain;
Your dignity was all you had left.
Wheezing, Coughing, spitting up
The lung for seven years.

I focus on the picture of you
And Maw Maw on my coffee table.
Young and in spats up to your knees;
Vigorous and strong was your Irish face.

Wine Oak Coal and Coke cCompany
Was one of the mines you
Crawled on your knees; to
Fill the Mule cart with tonnage.

A three mile trek up Arista
Mountain to catch a ride
To the mine, was a daily event.
You worked in other mines in
Tralee and Garwood, Wyoming County.

Paw Paw, you're my hero,
I woud say to you if I could.
The coal company sucked the air
Out of your lungs, and did not
Want to pay a penny.

[debra]

Steve, I loved the message of your poem. People must not forget the truth, and we, as writers, must remind them. I also loved
the manner in which you simply wrote your poem, the weaving of your words. Descriptive, beautiful, and to the point. A tribute to Paw Paw.

When I graduated from Concord in 1976, I worked as a social worker in Beckley,WV. One of my jobs was to try to get the old miners signed up for their benefits. I saw some pitiful sights.
They were wheezing, hacking, gasping for air, just lying there, all spent, with no income or benefits. Still have images of this in my mind.

My future husband, decided to change his major from
forestry to mining engineering. In the mid 70's that was where the money was to be made. (My brother did, too, but he ended up working for the DNR and now the Department of Energy in DC.) I 'll probably will write some poems about that time in my life
in the future. We got married and lived in Wyoming County. I saw first hand the life of a coal miner. I remember him coming home with a big gash on his head pouring the blood from an accident. Have you ever heard the old ballad, " The Coal Tattoo"? I used to sing it to myself ,as he sure ended up with one. He was 6' 6" and had to crawl under 3' spaces where there were gob rats. He was in the middle of the night working double shifts on transformers, and trouble-shooting mine machines. I
remember once, crossing a picket line, as he then worked for the company, me being scared of us being shot as I pulled our
small Toyota truck up to the entrance as close as I could get it, let him out, and flew out of there, heart pounding. We were in our 20's. It is hard on a wife, too, as you never know if he'll come home every evening.
He also worked 2 mines in Kentucky and he told me that they
didn't follow safety regulations like here. He told harrowing stories.

I am older now, divorced for 30 years, and am more inclined to get my hacks up about environmental pollution and righting wrongs. But the mines did help support me and my family for a few years. -------deb

I am so glad you wrote this poem!! Love it!!!