i offer no illusion
last night the hen house was raided.
opened the door to a mess of
feathers and blood this morning,
all of them gone.
nothing of the spotted hen but her liver
licked clean on some star splashed quills.
the rooster dead and whole in the middle of it all,
too big to be carried into the night.
and what is to be done now
when there is no undoing
and blossoms still open
petal by petal
to the sun.
i offer no hope, i never could.
i never could be your shield
in the face of inevitability,
your deep pool
waiting for you to drown
in your own reflection.
i want to see us thrive,
but that is between me and
and the rich dark earth –
hands and knees
in the garden.
i offer no explanation
the moon rose.
the raspberries were good, tart,
early or perhaps really really late
either way there is no space in the sky anymore
for anything other than what always was
and always is. plastic bags have learned to swim like jellyfish,
riding ocean currents crammed thick and close
with plankton and krill and bottles and stuff.
i offer no religion
but the taste of rain
and pulsing forest
though you know
we turn to prayer
when the world is aflame
and the ocean starts to gnaw
at our cities, but who then
will be listening –
which sane god would choose
to love us now.
and of course we ran when the flames came close.
laid my hands on the soil of my home,
whispered stay safe while spring flower heads
towered and lolled in the unseasonable wind.
crammed child and goat and dog in our car
and fossil-fuelled our way to safety –
an ugly irony in this warming world.
i offer no excuse:
this is not a season we might remember,
but a landscape.
winter has washed through us,
left our bones clean to the wind
and yet spring rises – sap green and bursting,
birds are building nests in my hair.
when autumn comes,
the birds will fly
and i will be here
still,
here.
i offer nothing but this effigy.
gathered words and cloth bound with hair
and the grass rings woven while
the wild freesias bloom along the river
where sometimes fish as long as my arm
leap, slap the surface silver and
return to the depths i could never fathom –
even in summer, diving below,
ears taut and full with pressure
arms reaching beyond my breath
outstretched until there is nothing but sun-shafts, shadow-water
and eternity looking at this moment bathed in light.
i offer only this
burn it if you want to.
First published in Dark Mountain vol 15 – revised and reposted for Brendan at Earthweal’s weekly challenge: A LYRE FOR A CHANGING EARTH. Read his essay here https://earthweal.com/2022/10/03/lyre-for-a-changing-earth/
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