I grew up in Negaunee, Michigan. I know
you know it. You used to take vacations there
as a child. I’m sure. You were married there.
You’ve read all of the authors from Negaunee,
all the famous books set in Negaunee. Your
health is thanks to the air of Negaunee, how
working in the mines was good for you, was
good for your grandfather too, like mine, who
gave his fingers to the mines, his hearing to
the mines, his life to the mines. When he’d sleep
in his chair in the living room, I’d look at his
fingers that weren’t there. The ghosts of his
fingers. I’d imagine them buried somewhere
in the mine. How his burial started early.
First his fingers, buried. Then his hearing,
buried. Then his life, buried. But I don’t have
to tell you this. You’re sick of reading all
of the old tales of Negaunee, sick of all
of the movies filmed in Negaunee, sick of
all of our celebrity. Just like Palmer, where
my father was born. I’m sure you’re sick
of Palmer too. It’s a cliché to say you met
the love of your life in Palmer—with the huge
mountainous stack of ore that blocked the sun
so that night came early, every time. Every
single day of our life. You remember.
–
Ron Riekki’s books include Blood/Not Blood Then the Gates (Middle West Press), My Ancestors are Reindeer Herders and I Am Melting in Extinction (Loyola University Maryland’s Apprentice House Press), Posttraumatic (Hoot ‘n’ Waddle), and U.P. (Ghost Road Press). Right now, Riekki’s listening to Nick Drake’s “Riverman.”