This is what the heart does: it hopes -
that everything will be all right,
no matter how impossible that feels
right now; that light will banish darkness,
love erase hate; that compassion and insight
will walk the halls of power with kind
- not killing - eyes.
The heart wants what it wants:
a happy ending. Even better,
a happy beginning, and a smooth road
ahead. My eyes are too old
for fairy tales. It is two days till Earth Day,
and they say they can't plant trees fast enough
to make climate deadlines. They need
thirty extra years that
we don't have. The trees can't
thirty extra years that
we don't have. The trees can't
grow fast enough to absorb the carbon.
And I wait to hear - but never hear -
that we need to curb emissions now. Because
that won't bring in enough votes,
even though people and animals
are dying, being displaced, suffering
in floods, and drought, and wildfires.
Even though climate refugees
- with and without fur -
are everywhere, and one day
it will be us.
Even though climate refugees
- with and without fur -
are everywhere, and one day
it will be us.
How is it that every poem I begin
winds up being about earth's struggle
to survive with too many of us on it?
Am I hoping someone will hear
who will raise the alarm in a way
that will galvanize world leaders,
finally, to act?
This is what the heart does:
it hopes.
This poem was inspired by the title of a poem by Jessica Lee: What the Heart Does. Happy Birthday, Mother Earth. And, hopefully, many more.
My parents were saying, if not preaching, "curb emissions" more than 50 years ago. Have emissions been curbed? Well...car exhaust is less foul than it used to be.
ReplyDeleteYes, the heart does keep hoping. And you keep writing. A few people hear and do, but not enough. But we have to keep the hope!
ReplyDelete