My mother used to tell me “Dray. You are...

My mother used to tell me “Dray. You are what you do.” In the Foundry, it’s not rest and you’ve always got a burn somewhere. I never minded. I was doing. I was part of the work. Part of the day. I was. I don’t know. Burning. Freezing up. Inside that buzz. Melting down alongside thirty other men. But we were there. You could see us, and we weren’t just making steel, we were. I don’t know. We were. Making ourselves. We were. I was. All that. Movement. Movement. And now I do. Nothing. So. Then I am. What? Yeah. Nothing.

Wallace, Naomi. The Trestle at Pope Lick Creek. Broadway Play Publishing, Inc. 2000. pp. 48.