06 May 2011

A ton of bricks

Loading handmade bricks

Building a family house at Bbira, Watoto Childcare Ministries, Kampala, Uganda

Breathing in heat,
hours sweating
reflected bright.
Catch, pass, repeat
fingers cramp, stiffen
or go numb
arms ache
as if they have
carried the world.
Laughter and grunts
blend, harmonious song.
Sudden struck 
"We are really here"
following the will and
call of God.
All of us
receive the blow
two thousand pounds
of sun baked clay
as red dust
coats each heart.

submitted for the next Random Acts of Poetry at High Calling Blogs
where we are reviving dead metaphors.


Simply Darlene said...

"hours sweating
reflected bright" are my favorite lines.

It's all beautiful.


L.L. Barkat said...

I like the red dust. I just love color in a poem. I do. :)