I don’t remember
planting these seeds.
They must have gleamed
in my hand, like sand,
like dust. I must
have let them drop
almost unnoticed,
let them grow
half-tended, undeserved
and now, I am so grateful
to be gathering this crop
of kindness and of love.
I’m so honoured to be back on The Cure for Sleep. Please check it out here: https://thecureforsleep.com/july-issue-on-promises/#SarahConnor. Tanya Shadrick is creating and curating a wonderful, safe space to talk about important things.
I’m cat-stretched on the patio –
cool drink, warm stones –
and we’re star-watching.
They ease gently into view,
the ancient stars, deep history –
and the satellites. We count them, idly.
Will they be there forever, too?
Is that how they will know –
those aliens who come visiting
in some far future – that we
were here? The junk that circles
this blue planet?
Half the world’s burning
half is drowning.
Half the world’s grieving,
half’s just greeding – we
are dancing on the edge,
unseeing. It’s like we crave
oblivion.
Our swollen bellies
filling up with plastic,
the ocean drowning in it.
Half the time I’m sickened
by myself, my own consuming –
I try, I fail, I fall, I try again.
Lay me out. Satellite me
with my junk. How
would you ever find me?
How would I reach you?
It’s earthweal time, and this week we are all getting very excited about the Anthropocene Hymnal, brainchild of our very own Ingrid Wilson. She’s been very open about the amount of work needed to create an anthology, and I’m really looking forward to reading this. All profits will go to WWF. The cover is by Kerfe Roig, and it’s a thing of beauty. You can read Brendan’s interview with Ingrid here: https://earthweal.com/2021/07/19/a-poetry-that-does-not-compromise-the-anthropocene-hymnal/
I took it all with me
the grief and the anger and the fear
and she took it
like she takes all our shit
and she smoothed it
the way she might smooth a stone or a piece of glass
and she cradled me
the way a mother might cradle a frightened child
and her pulse
was my pulse
and I left with it all
the grief and the anger and the fear
a little smoother now
a little easier to carry
For Sherry at earthweal. Hard times.
Sarah writes poems 