there it stands:
hunger
open-mouthed and gaping.
a hole in the ground full
of glossy, shiny things like teeth
or fangs
or mica
ready to eat our youth
and there they go
into the deep darkness
of its throat
small bodies in an open maw
small hands prepped for extraction
into a maze of windpipes for
the earth to breathe;
and they breathe each other in,
dust and sweat and blood,
the children and the mines.
for one tiny moment
in the shadowy hollow
a constellation underground,
pressing in on them
but these stars bite, are rabid.
small hands fit better into
muzzles
grope in the grit-fogged gloom
for sharp, pretty sheets of mica
for handfuls of rupees,
for a short escape
from hunger,
the risk of collapse—
lung or wall or world.
for the shimmer of tears
from a bereft mother,
still hungry,
still with other small mouths to feed.
for the glitter and sparkle
of pretty maquillage
on a plump American face.
and only a few American dollars.
how small a price to pay.
Hana's YouTube reading of "Basal Cleavage of a Drugstore Dollar"
Hana confesses: "This poem is inspired by mica mining in India, where poverty is used to keep a system of unethical and child labor practices in place. Unchecked capitalism will always have a victim. Learn more: https://www.fairplanet.org/story/child-labour-in-mica-mines-the-beauty-industrys-dark-secret/"
