The earth is alive

Her heart is the heated core

Skin, cool soil

Grass, the thin hair of her arms


We are the microorganisms

Sometimes we do right by her

Other times we don’t

And she flushes us away in floods

Warps us with disease

Or rips us apart with hurricanes

Her antibiotics

Destroying us all, good and bad


Like bacteria

We’ve found ways to adapt

To flee and protect ourselves

We sicken her then

Poison her veins with our waste

Gorge ourselves fat with her blood

Like vicious powerful parasites


This poem is from the revised edition of Storm of Roses.

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1 Comment

  1. Meaghan on May 26, 2020 at 5:04 am

    Thanks for this poem. We need to do more!

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