requiem for the earth
note to self

WWII marker at Britain’s
Canterbury Cathedral in
the ruins, granite chiseled
“Father, forgive them for
they know not what they do”
I stood desolate

we full well know
the havoc we wreak on
our beloved earth, our home
the only parachute we have
we want what we want more—
our comforts—convinced the
worst won’t unfurl, yet it’s here
predicted fifty years ago
when there was time
to mend our savage ways
I too am culpable—drive and
cozy near the gas fire

faster, more dire than foreseen—
cat-5 twisters, desperate
flooding, devastating drought
and oh, the fires!
remember how plentiful
skippers, painted ladies
and tiger moths? no
sustaining habitat to feed—
too many of us

how do we create
a requiem for the earth?

I cast my love and warmth—
for the gnarled oak, a century old
its weighty branches pulled toward
ground—the woodpecker’s
flash of red as it drills the bark
the innocent babes born now
on this weeping earth
for my aging body, gravity
calling me home

oh! sing a sacred song
sing it with my whole heart

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.