Hope is an elephant with a long memory,
who is the wisdom-keeper of her tribe,
carrying the collective memory of
those old golden days when
there were more wild ones than humans,
when elephant families, prides of lions,
zebras and rhinos and chimps roamed the land
in breathtaking numbers, and men walked
warily around the edges of the savannah,
outnumbered and mindful that they entered
this wild world as guests.
(This was before the wild ones were so few,
and humans so greedy and power-mad
that they herded the last few remaining beasts
into "hunting compounds" where brave white hunters
could shoot a trapped lion for $30,000
and a piece of their soul they were too clueless
to ever miss.)
Who are the beasts? Who the predators?
Who are the unleashed ungovernable, who have
no concept of the rights and the place
of the beyond-human realm
in the ecosystem we call Earth?
My heart feels as heavy as an elephant's memory,
who remembers being torn from his bellowing mother,
screaming, stuffed in a ship's hold
and carried across the sea,
to live out his life in a concrete enclosure,
or stand on his tippy-toes in a circus ring
to make people laugh (those who are
not weeping.)
When humans get too big for their britches,
natural consequences hold them to account.
Witness: wildfires wiping out a town overnight.
Witness: unprecedented heat, freak storms,
pandemics, floods, shifting ground,
cliffs falling into the sea, buildings built on sand
collapsing with all the living bodies inside,
who only moments before were making coffee,
watching tv, thinking about
what to make for supper.
And the hidden toll: billions of beings:
dying in warming seas,
wild ones who cannot outrun the flames,
those starving and displaced who wander
into towns and are shot or who drown
swimming from island to island in search of food,
because we are too many and, now,
they are too few?
My hope becomes a sad old broken elephant heart
- endangered, sorrowing, heavy,
longing for the time that used to be,
when the wild ones roamed the savannah
and the white man trod its edges carefully.
When we knew what was wild and required respect -
before we became the wild, ungovernable ones,
and lost the respect of all other creatures
for our absolute and utter failure to care.
for earthweal where I try to contemplate hope while feeling rather hopeless. The west coast is burning from California on up. 301 wildfires are burning in B.C. Vernon, a large Okanagan city, is under threat. Last week Lytton burned down to the ground, people escaping within minutes of losing their lives. One survivor said had it happened at two a.m. the town would be a graveyard now, as they barely got out in time. And a long hot summer ahead.
So many things in the world which are difficult. You captured a few, to which the reader should consider. Your poem brought us hope.
ReplyDeleteA grief-laden hope which refuses to believe we will wilfully destroy the entire planet. Sigh.
ReplyDeleteIt's hard Sherry, as you've illustrated here. I believe we've really entered dangerous territory now and we can't stop it, we can only hope to stop it getting too much worse. It's already too late for so many animals.
ReplyDeleteWell, like we say at earthweal: The grief is real, so is the hope. It's so hard to see how they pair but it keeps us writing. Sad poem, sometimes all we can do is show how heavy the burden becomes. - Brendan
ReplyDeleteWe have so much to atone for. We are guests who have long overstayed our welcome...
ReplyDeleteThere is so much sadness on earth right now and so many injustices. I think they are being revealed to us so that we come together in the healing. Suzanne- Mapping Uncertainty
ReplyDeleteit does seem like the earth is shrugging. life will continue in some form, even as we denude it of its present variety. ~
ReplyDeleteI can feel the weight of the heart, elephants never forget and humans never remember that we are caretakers of the earth. I often wonder what will it be like 7 generations from now. Will earthlings mend their ways? Who knows?
ReplyDelete