All my fears live
in my dreams and in real life
underground. Each fear
has a name

I speak aloud
each day when I descend.
Is it any wonder
that we see Hell

deep within the Earth,
dark, but bright with fire,
hot, but cold without
any hope of a warm

embrace, a human smile
to match. It is hard to believe
that I longed for this life,
desiring nothing more

than following the family
into the mines. The men
on my crew all hate
having a woman

in the shaft. I’m bad luck,
an accident just waiting around
the corner, five minutes
before break. St. Piran,

you were held by the tin miners
of Cornwall in their hearts;
I too will whisper your name
in prayer rather than naming

my daily fears. Please silence
my fears and watch over me
in all my comings
and goings, the time

above and below,
returning to the light.
My prayers to you
calm the dust-filled minutes,
hours and days,

the changing shifts,
the shifting earth.

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