Heavy, Too, Too
Chestnut Ridge, New York
The bad things never truly go away
But we can break them down
Compost them
And watch as something new and different
Grows and blossoms
The issue
Is that our systems for composting
Both literal and metaphorical
Have eroded
Worn away
Like dry, cracked earth
It feels hopeless
But with a little water
Whether it be through rain
Or tears of grief,
We will heal
All of this feels like platitudes
In the face of such
Unabated destruction
That has only grown in intensity
Where is this rain?
Where is the light?
Sure,
I can find hope in
Plants endlessly reaching towards the sun
In roots
And growing and flowing things
Maybe that’s where hope
Has always been found
What do we do
When our systems and society
Are so infected with rot and decay
That they refuse to become compost?
That they refuse to allow us
To watch something grow anew?
What do we do?
How do we usher in the death of something
That clearly needs to be laid to rest?
We all felt it
Knew it was coming
All sides
Saw us getting here
And yet it all just carries on
Limping along
Institutions filled with hardened blood
Caked in dry bandages and pus
The soft, supple ground
Is right there
Ready to accept you
To give you rest
You will not
Must not
Rise like a phoenix
All flame and fire and fury
We must bring you flowers
And tend to your quiet, solemn grave
The crows will chatter over your rotting corpse
This version of you
The commodification
The lack of humanity
The lack of care and the separation
Will be
Must be forgotten
So that we
The planet
May heal
Our seeds will not ask
Of Facebook friends and TikTok trends
Of zoning and mowing and year-ends
When they dig us up from the ground
Like so much crude oil
To find out
What went wrong
They will ask us
How many trees we planted
How many gardens
Did we watch grow
What were the names and characteristics
Of the animals we knew
What will we tell them?
The world and the gods we know
Are ready to be laid to rest
What can we do
To help them?