The Commons

 

It is Solstice tomorrow. In days of olde,

serfs would meet on the commons

to gather coals from the communal flame
to light their own hearth fires.

Here, there is the Village Green,

where Tofitians gather for live music,

poetry and artisans' markets. Once,

a man handed out headphones 

and young folk danced, gyrating

and bobbing to music

we watchers could not hear.

On reserve, the People remember best

how to gather, how to uphold each other,

how to drum and raise their hands in support,

to honour one another, and to offer comfort

in hard times.

For many, their Commons is

The Mall, where zombie faces

move from store to store, accumulating

bags of plastic things they do not need,

lulled by the Muzak into an altered state,

mesmermized as they buy and buy

to fill the hole left when they disconnected

from earth and sea and sky.

To live freely in an encroaching world,

one must live in the Now, as creatures do,

grateful for shelter and food,

for ground under our feet

that is not sliding, rivers

that are not sweeping us away.

"At least, for now, life is calm," we say,
counting our blessings.

The At Least theory does well in times

like these, when chaos, division

and war rage on elsewhere. Yet we are wise 

enough to know our turn will come
one day.
What happens to one,
happens to us all,
the wise ones say.

With beauty of earth and sky and sea,

one almost can believe

this planet will survive

the losses we now grieve. 

for earthweal: A Modern Commons