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By Rosemarie Bingham

I am
hollowed out,
not ice cream scoop,
but derrick—
a shovel
with teeth
coming down hard
to make a hole:

I am to be a hole,
an important hole,
to base a footing
for an edifice,
a Grand Edifice,
a Grand Plan
for a construction.

I am to be
crushed with cement,
pierced through
with re-bars.

I am to be an anchor
for the cornerstone,
an anchor in dirt.

I do not complain.
I am proud—
except, when all is done,
will I—me—
still be?

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