Sunday, October 08, 2006

Ecology Child

Born at the turn of the century
under a new moon,

the waters of her birth are muddy;
she carries pocketfuls of sky
where vultures circle.

She believes in magic,
smoothed from her fingers
into sand, stone, and soil,

but men have woven counterspells
for decades. Henry Ford's spores
lead the soil, rivers bleed
through walls of turbines.

The firmament has shed her soft veil
before the red eye of Orc, and he stirs
ancient gods of hurricane and flood.

Bodies swell through broken
beds of the ocean as the last oil
is leeched from the marrow of the earth.

This little girl sews with a fishbone needle
and a silver thread of light
along the fissure of dawn,
a lacework of memory
of how the globe used to be,
a refuge for bio-diversity.

As she sews she sings a nursery rhyme of A B C ...
remember, remember -

all that remains is this seedlike ember.


Blogger Chris Never said...

Men have indeed, woven counterspells for decades, this is very good Moon, the rape of this planet goes on and on with end, perhaps one day, when it is far too late, it will stop.

4:57 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

Thanks. I take heart in the news that the hole in the ozone layer is smaller this year and on the way to healing itself.

This poem came from a conversation with my sister who was telling me her daughter was born in the year 2000 on a full moon. Her birthday was the sixth of the sixth, so this year, 06.06.06. That gave me the starting point for the poem.

7:31 PM  

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