End Times

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/

6 thoughts on “End Times

  1. This cloud of distance filled with our junk, is this the halo of modernity, its Cheshire smile? Few fail to see the brutality of the moment, the magnitude of the impending loss; I don’t know what that vision enables, if its convincing to those who need to change (all of us) or should be ditched to play “Nearer My God to Thee” with the quintet as the Titanic goes down. A haunting love song here. – Brendan

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  2. You have said it as perfectly as it can be said – all of it – half of us grieving, half greeding, half the world burning, half drowning. Sigh. I love how you move from the contemplation of the timeless stars, to the reality we have created down here, in all of our unknowing. In all of the excess everywhere, we who are aware, and trying, can comfort ourselves that our footprint on the earth is as soft as we can make it. But it feels like a drop in the bucket with corporations ravaging everything. I so love your writing, Sarah.

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  3. Thank you for this moving poem, Sarah. I feel the sense of reaching out, of yearning. I am sure there are ways to reach across space and time within our hearts.

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