Crust, Mantle, Core
The Poet empathizes with the Earth whose heart never stops beating, whose crust, mantle and core breathe fire and bleed hot magma.
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there is a speck of grit
in the Earth’s eye and in my eye
The sun is orange blur
things far are harder to talk too
and the earth knows this
I see my yard lamp post
The breath puffs of silica and oxygen
scorched farmland, I see my cereal boxes still look the same-
rectangles with splashes of color, words offer prizes inside, wrapped in plastic
The Earth cannot see people in airplanes waving at it.
I see hair color we miss what falls to the ground
Both the Earth and I listen harder each day
for the dancer to pop up
Because won’t our hearing become enhanced if we are impaired?
Maybe this time she does not appear
There is a space between listening and
blinking, sanding and soothing,
a squeezed, stopped heart and rushing blood
the Earth never stops
Scratchy wool, gathered responsibly, and lip soft silk
There is a searching place that comes
even without seeing.
Where are you Earth
You’ve waited so long for us
Maybe that is the problem.
plummeting under this limbo stick at a random garden party,
the song plays
but is stuck in a loop.
The Earth too big to sashay away
We both scream in hot steam from the sink
It is always hotter than you think.
(Oh Earth, thanks for that!)
Finally given the chance of perfect touch
the air succumbs to fire,
the earth and I fight our way out of the fire,
wipe off the gray ash, face the glass-like, indifferent sun.
