My father was born to a hardened start,
fitted with the business of putting seed to stone.
His nickel plated pollen was hauled to the surface
scattered about into pockets of change,
the seeds to an industrial revolution.
I was recycled from the minerals of these calloused hands,
planted in the long shadow of my fathers’ slag,
born and smelted into a life of iron and ore,
I was raised to the common core of a mining town.
A city that cultivated and refined me, until a union was tendered between us.
Together we sprouted upon this rock into new shade of green,
all sulphur speckled leaves, all sky scraping stem,
all milled in metaphor and rusting in the rain.
I am this city, and this city is me, and together,
we bend to the light, and beg to bloom.