The Miner's Canary

Now only loved for the value of her death

The Miner’s Canary has coal in her lungs

Her song is polluted, she’s speaking tongues 

Her sunshine hue is covered in char

This kind of darkness won't allow any star 

Calloused hands stole her, her freedom was clipped 

Used to find the poison in their cavernous crypt 

No more fresh air, only venomous breath

Now only loved for the omen of her death

Her job is to die and act as a warning 

But her aerial corpse will receive no mourning 

The men in the cave will abandon their posts 

Returning to the surface like sediment ghosts 

A fallen angel in their man-made tomb 

Becoming the fuel they slave to exhume 

The Miner’s Canary waits for her demise 

She dreams of the wind, and closes her eyes

Author's Note

In the 20th century, some mines used canaries to detect toxic gasses, the miners would see the bird fall ill/die and know they needed to evacuate.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

Such a finely written piece of history within a poem, nadia. Congratulations on offering your readers a two-way gift of both history and poetry!

In the UK, quite a few of the closed down mines, have- in one way or another, been converted into mining museums and those cages can be seen. Life-savers for the miners but, of course, not for the specially bred canaries.

[willweb]

Kind of a sad tale or way to look at it. I am familiar with the old practice of taking a canary into a mine for a warning against toxic gasses though, I never saw it from the canary's point of view