A pop-up wilderness west of the Piedmont,
folded land of sudden impediments
scored by creeks and runs
From the rise of organizations like Zero Hour to Greta Thunberg’s Fridays For Future, the youth climate movement is only just getting started.
The snow and the dark wind, the impassable wastes of one’s backyard, the icy draft that leaks in under the front door tell you you have no place to go. You must sit down and allow the slightly old-fashioned language of self to drift in.
I want to apologize for walking in
When the dog was licking
Your bald head as you lay
On the couch drinking rum
Straight from the bottle…
Allowing the seas to recover from the outrageous assaults of commercial fishing can help heal our own wounded lives.
and you showed me the letter
from your father who left when you were five.
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length…
People here stop and listen to children’s conversations. People here not only wait in line—say, at the bakery—but in that line come to agreement as to who rightly should go first—the frail old man, for instance, who has trouble with his legs, the mother who needs to hurry home & cook, the busboy from the café sent to buy more bread for a sudden crowd, and only then the couple, plenty of time, buying bread for dinner.
America is going through a water crisis, and we’re going to face even more dire times if it doesn’t begin to change soon.
for you are broken too, eh?
and mad like me for love
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.