Legacy of Imbalance

I’m a child of climate chaos, bred to breathe poison.

The babes of my generation wailed their way into the world missing pieces—eyes, intestines, trust… Those who came before us lusted after fossil fuel and didn’t love trees enough.

We paid for our forebears’ imbalance in disease and desolation.

Please, don’t take me for a techno-hater. I’m quite attached to my cyber-limbs. Without well-lubed metal, walking and typing and… claiming the coolest vintage oilcan collection west of The Floods would’ve been just a dream for me.

Still, I would’ve loved a leaf collection. The archives say they were lovely.

 

inspired by this image
photographed by Nick Allen
via

lingering post-chemo emotions
and this song

 

– for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. To see what other stories were poured out of these cans (see photo), follow this link.
– linked to Poets United.

 

Seize the Ink

And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.
~ Ezra Pound

 

Ink won’t wait
forever
to be shaped.

Thoughts must be
seized and quill(ed)
when they want,

if feels are
to become
poetry.

 

the wee notes…
– after sharing Ezra Pound’s poem… Kim, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, invited us to write a piece about “just doing it”. So, I just did it. In the shape of a Tricube: 3 stanzas of 3 lines, each line 3 syllables.
– linked to Poets United.