The Miner

By Scott Wiggerman

Convinced it must be there,

he carefully chips away

at the granite of his heart

with a rusty splintered pick.

In search of a vein of kindness,

all he’s found for years

are grains of quartz and mica,

feldspar dust and shards.

Even if it’s thin as ribbon,

he’s certain a bit of kindness

is encased in his hard heart.

He is human: a trace of humanity

must exist somewhere in there.