Tagged: the Earth
Inheritance
&
here I thought
that was all
an apple a day
if i survive it
cross
like a grapefruit
between
two things
neither of which
i can remember
neither is grape
neither is me
it’s not
as simple as
putting two plants
together, even
in the right conditions
some
just don’t
make anything
Flat Earth
I remember in church
a woman was having trouble
praying to God
sexually abused
by her father and now her husband
she couldn’t take another man
Make God a woman, the pastor
told her. Granted, this
was a Methodist church
Mom liked it for the choir
Dad always felt
he could ignore what he didn’t like
the matter of interpretation
heavy. some things did happen. we
did slay our memories
we did find a dead spot
in the woods
i knew of it
in the way one knows our planet
through pictures
through the elements of trust
wind, fire, through blood
like a meteor disintegrated
how can I ever
get far enough away
to see
what is really the world
to see it touched
by the hands
we are told mean time
and know the forest
for the stars
how on Earth
will I recognize
my mother, her face
like there had been people
After Climbing a Tree
half of you begins alone
cast in doubt among rocks
by chance fossilized
inexplicably timed
asked to trust the atmosphere
to observe your body’s
race into alignment
without really participating
the mind wields
a sword-stick
of soul
time will enclose
the others, their colorful
straws poked through
puddles of air
you learn man
from dangerous man
the mountain range
at which love
becomes too much
you know things like
righty, tighty
lefty, loosey
bleed the faucets
for a freeze
my father will always
come get me, even
if I’m not myself
night brings the sun
in, out of the rain
father’s armpits
smell of brown fruit
you know things like
if I got up here
then I can get down
The Earth Two
when a child picks up something
delicate she often crushes it
or pulls it off the tree
her hand
may as well be
a tube to the brain
the insides of worm
and aloe vera
upward
each first contact
a benevolent ownership
so nothing bad will happen
no, because I
will put it back
such confidence
the minnow, the grape-like
clutch of frog eggs
especially the flower
how do you explain
what is alive?
once we killed savages
I find myself saying
if you leave it, it
will get bigger
as in
there will be
more of it for you
“..finding a second Earth is not a matter of if, but when.”
-Thomas Zurbuchen, NASA’s Science Mission Directorate
Maya
human animal awareness
peaks
at the edge
of physical boundary
such as
out of the woods
& into a clearing
or reverse of that
into greens
that when mixed together
appear black
some have thorns
so they all might
some are oily
& poisonous, so
they all might be
we appear on a hill
at the edge
of a cliff, below which
a river
beyond which
the stone shaved
clean
by wind
membranes of
cities, the towers
neck tied
& black of dress
the first doorway
opened
& the first pen
an absence
a finger slick with berries
the first wall a raft
possibly
a door
or
the green wall
of medicine &
fibrous material
fruits
& soft bedding
The Ancient Reptilians
every dinosaur book starts out
a long long time ago, or
before
there were buildings, cars
before the trees were gone (once
when they had never been)
before
the leaves were different
and as gluttonous drinkers of sun
they stood, broad faced and brachial
before
their necks. maybe we say instead
instead there were dinosaurs
very unlike cartoon dinosaurs, who
before
becoming huge and terrible
could fit in the palm of your hand
their hummingbird hearts bled in
before
receding, flooding again the plains
of their limbs to move. they’d tense in
vegetation, wary of their own feathers
before
in agitation, taking flight
this is before and during the
beginning of time
before
enough collective damage
had been done to call it the past
before there were roads
before
the whispering of animals into rooms
of our dwelling. be it houses, clothes
as fire eats the air
before
air has had enough and shoos it
when at once it has always been
like the ground to a foot in a shoe
before
the biggest thing on Earth was God
A Consequence of the Size of the World
we fell in love, and were separated
the problem therein –
it wasn’t hard enough
to see each other again
The Exact Moment of Small Comfort
No one likes you or dislikes you
whatever that color is in the middle
a green, just inside
being closer to dying
the mean, the law of savages
the point at which your face
becomes caked in need of nothing
muddy camouflage, carefully applied
to whatever greenish-brown thing
happened to you, is still happening
something will get a good meal out of me
that’s why it’s not sad
The Earth & its Atmosphere
there must be a hole
for needing to be better
& hating yourself
through which
it leaves
we park somewhere
a trap
of green gasses
idling, a sun roof
the large holes
carried
in front of our bodies
like stealing art
the certain parts
of air that stick
before
being sent back
the false ones
the hopeful ones
the oxygen
the nitrogen
the courageous others
tagging along
swept up in it
we give each other
something good a little less
each time
here in the same place
but it’s still
some good
we finger the holes
in our hoodies
& in the atmosphere
we crack a window
we finger our mouths
through which words
emerge from
primordial
soupy throats
but where
before that? i struggle
sometimes
perspective… or
who was there
when it happened
a police officer?
a father?
a friend
who learns the world
by looking at you
looking at them
Prayer as Lizard
a small thing
to pray for a tree
the type of thing
that lives
in a dead oak’s
hollow. prayer
that resembles
a lizard
circling
its way up
on the opposite
side of the trunk
from him, so
he can’t see it
and to catch it
is out
of the question