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
Destroying us all, good and bad
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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