Sperm whale found dead with 220 pounds of trash in its stomach (December 2nd, 2019 from CNN)
and how heavy of a surrender flag must mother earth carry until we say goodbye to our
battlegrounds. play funeral songs for the sea life we were too late to save or for earth’s seven daughters;
who’ve paved a cemetery at ocean bottom for enough creatures they’ve wondered if they’re our next eulogy.
i’m scared earth’s tearfall is our only freshwater we haven’t mourned. if our droughts would end if it weren’t for all of the blood,
for the scrapes we’ve cut with fingernails and our own fishnets. how hungry our brushstrokes of war paint until the water itself
is a mural of blood.
until we stitch earth’s wounds of garbage bags and bottles. pray we won’t run out of thread.
haven’t we warned ourselves how suddenly an ecosystem can wake up at war. army uniforms sewn from whale’s flesh.
war chants we’ve sung to the rhythm of boat motors. for long as we’ve been predators, we’ve forgotten sea life
doesn’t wear armor; only scars from yesterday’s blood shed.
we cannot ask ourselves how an ocean saves a world
and not ask ourselves about massacre. or mercy. or the stolen lands we’ve fought for in our life;
how our humanity was born from a long ancestry of red flags.
I do not know if water can heal scars from a world who was once bulletproof.
if it resurrects.
if mother earth is immortal until she’s on her deathbed
in a frame built from cigarette butts and rope — our artifacts from before we bury mother earth and she doesn’t float back;
before myths are all we read of sharks and coral reef;
when bathtubs are where our sons and daughters learn breaststroke. but let it not be tomorrow.
let it not be tomorrow’s fault.
let us not lift a globe into our lap and ask our parents why it’s not blue anymore.
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