Speaking of homeless

http://www.boston.com/news/globe/city_region/breaking_news/2007/07/firefighters_ba_1.html

That link will take you to a story on a mill complex in my hometown of Uxbridge that is burning down as we speak.

Those of you who remember the very first incarnation of Speak, the poetry reading that I ran in my hometown for a while, will recall this as the mill that was next to Woodland Spice and Tea on the other side of the railroad bridge. It was home to various art organizations over the years; I ran a poetry workshop at the old Youth Center there, and there are still a lot of small businesses and artists who make their home there — or rather, made their home there. was deeply involved with things going on there, far more than I was.

The factory whistle at Bernat’s was the soundtrack to the town’s life for my entire childhood. My grandmother worked there. The factory made the dress overcoats for the Navy during WWII, and the color of those coats was known officially as “Uxbridge Blue.”

In my head, I hear:

Homeless…homeless…
moonlight sleeping on the midnight lake.

— Ladysmith Black Mombazo, from Paul Simon’s “Graceland”

There really aren’t any words of my own for how I feel about this.