1860 Brusy - 1881 Winona
If only December had been cold, as it should have been
I would be safe
If underemployed, in the house Kasia and I shared
With her brother Wojciech and his wife Franciszka.
But this December was warm, and the railroad
Needed a mountain of limestone ballast to start
The spring building season as soon as possible.
So there I was in Stockton Quarry with my shovel
Halfway up a ten-foot bank of clay, pick in hand,
With a few other Polish men, breaking out rocks and
Rolling them downhill for the Irishmen below,
Safe on firm ground, to prepare for the crusher.
I was working away at one monstrous rock,
Thinking about Christmas just two days away,
Looking forward to 1882: a little house of our own
For Kasia and me, and maybe even a little one
To replace the little boy we had lost that summer.
Meanwhile, I had sprung the rock free,
And sent it downhill, tearing loose a massive wall
Of rocks, gravel, and Stockton Valley clay
Which beat my body to a pulp.
I was brought home, unconscious,
Unable even to bid my Kasia farewell,
To die one day before my twenty-second day.
The newspaper listed my death, the death
Of a proud Polish nobleman, bearer of the Karp herald
As that of "Billy Chopra."
(1) Third cousin to Faustyna Augustyna Czapiewski (1862-1882)
No comments:
Post a Comment