Mother Nature is Burnt Out & so are We.

Mother Nature is Burnt Out & so are We. 

an ecopoetic poem contrasting the phases of the stress cycle with reflections on climate justice

 (transcription from May's "Coffee Stand Open Mic" featured performance)

link to video recording of performance w/musical accompaniment by Squidds Madden: https://www.facebook.com/713827785/videos/767824751461251/

Pt. 1. The Stressor 

(“Windy Days Sound like Sirens/Nature, Did You Even Want to Be a Mother?”)

windy days sound like sirens

windy days warn “no sparks or open flames

windy days so strong pond water becomes choppy

dehydrated trees bare orange cracked bark beginning to bud

seeping in tumultuous fog lingers above wildfire zone of last week

smacked by wind gusts, fingertips freezing, nose dripping, 

sunshine blue skies reflecting on nape of neck.

mesmerizing. the allure of her uncertainty keeps us looking long enough to hear-

her warning cry for help illuminated in skies offering everything all at once.

Nature, did you even want to be a mother? 

    After the great big bang, did you consider abortion?

    Human life born, we were supposed to be

      "the future".

    Now, we retrograde to pre-Roe v. Wade.

Mother Nature, what about your future? 

Tell us, do you wish you focused on a career instead?

Mother Nature,

do you remember when your body belonged to only you?  

Mother Nature,

 when was the last time you fed yourself first?

Mother Nature, why can’t you feed us all?

    Humans, granted more than enough,

    so we fight for the last bite of your sweet apples.

Mother Nature, your biological clock is ticking.

Are your hot flashes baby fever or pre-human-o-pause?

Mother Nature, were Adam & Eve a “whoops”?  Mother Nature, why didn’t you use protection?

 Mother Nature, you asked for this. Mother Nature, who's the father anyway? 

Mother Nature, are you ready for an empty nest?

Mother Nature,  is it time we move out of your basement?

Mother Nature, is it time we reconcile with the nonexistence of a safe space?

City Emergency Speakers strum and do not say

“This

 is a 

Warning

System

Test”

---

Pt. 2. Reaction

(“A Recipe for Baking Muffins During a Wildfire/Gather-Rinse-Repeat”)

Make the buttermilk: ½ cup milk, ½ tbs vinegar, stir it lightly.

Put it aside.

Measure & whisk the dry ingredients;

 flour, cinnamon, salt, baking soda, baking powder.

Put it aside.

The flames begin to spark.

Measure & whisk the wet ingredients;

 ½ cup mound of brown sugar reminiscent of a mesa, melting,

molasses, oil, vanilla extract, crack an egg.

Flames crackling.

If a flame sparks in the woods & no one heard it, can the muffins keep baking?

Whisk the now turned buttermilk into wet ingredients, stir in the dry.

Flames grow with each piece of high desert dried fuel found in trails adjacent to the Flatirons.

The oven beeps, it's preheated.

Heat rising, sirens sigh.

Chop two pink lady apples into bite-sized chunks, 

    leave skin on (it has most of the nutrients), 

    fold apple pieces into batter.

Sirens sigh, the cat meows; 

wonder if you should be packing instead of baking.

Scoop the batter into a silicone muffin pan.

Place the muffins in the oven, 350 degrees.

Alexa, "Set timer to 25 minutes".

Sirens sigh.

alarm sounds, check the muffins.

alarm sounds, check the evacuation notice.

alarm sounds, but the muffins need more time.

alarm sounds, but the people need more time.

muffins bake for 5 more minutes.

Who knows how long they really need.

        Too long, they'll burn.

alarm sounds, “evacuate NOW”,  

the people need 5 more minutes 

who knows how long they really need. 

 Too long, they'll burn.

Check the muffins, when ready, let them cool. Turn off the oven. Wait.

Check the evacuation alerts, stay cool, and wait. 

    Eat a muffin, keep pressing the refresh button on evacuation alerts, and wait.

 Take a bath as ravenous wildfire takes a charred bite.

Dear Drain,

C.C. drained out, drain-o, drained, burned, burned-out, burnt, brunt the burden, the body, burdened by the brunt of bore out, the brunt of it the main course, stressed, depressed (too cliche a rhyme to not include), 

Fuck you bubble baths. I love you. 

But you never solve the problem they way I expect you to.

Teflon in the water, mercury in our teeth

Is it possible for any of us to be truly well?

If a cliche is a universal truth, then stressed & depressed are a universal truth. 

How did we do this to ourselves?

Forget that rhetorical question. We all know how we got here.

 The question is, what are we going to do about it?

I look to my conditioner bottle & realize it might have the answer.

Balanced, hydrated, calm, eco-chic.

Protects the overworked, over processed, lacking in shine.

PH balanced re-awakening.

Hydrated clarity.

Massage from roots to ends, the elements of earth wind fire & water.

Cruelty free.

Please recycle. 

---

Pt. 3. Response Choose Your Adventure….

Choice #1: Do not complete the stress cycle. 

burnout the virtue

seductive suffocation amplified active harder harder motivation to push through the wait of eight hour days growing longer want infinity well too bad buck up & grind the industrial revolution has given up on gates now we spin the turbines in hell so we can afford our graves one day incumbent overstress of human genomics freelanced will of independent experience encourages external funding full time only part time need not apply we do not have time for you in this information age we indeed need your indentured sleep deprivation bow to the time where can I get more of it invest a minute return an hour always in debt where did it all go trade soul for just five more minutes past due dirt becomes the evenings dream dust and tomorrows ground coffee awaken with calves aching struggle to emerge from your cocoon as yesterdays sand timer shatters then buries the body below it’s grains of a.m. blanket procrastination snooze alarm turned off next mission rise up like the gravitational pull of tonights full moon legs stretch out from under blankets mind rises from sandman dusted dreams of sitting at a dining table with all those you’ve ever met feel a lifetime in a night awaken belly rumbling no more coffee and so much shit to do eat a bowl of cereal fall back asleep awaken shivering below bed sheets forget time just enough to still remember to get out of here eventually because it’s never a good day to take a day off and there is never enough time in a day to get everything done hustle and grind never ending eyes begin to close even tho they have just opened

Choice #2: Complete the Stress Cycle

Just Another Cathartic Moment

Cherry tree petals stick to the rainy sidewalk like paper mache

The rain keeps falling,

Cold, unrelenting, demands its space.

Today I sink below, constantly reminding myself to hold shoulders back. 

Tall, grounded, oak tree.

I walk back to my home twice.

First for warmer shoes and pants, second for a warmer jacket.

The allure of frigid skin shivering below cold, heavy, raindrops is no longer romantic.

I find myself in the field, howling at 8pm.

I do not have the time on me,

 but am reminded it is 8pm by the resounding bell which has become ritual, 

then the following howls

I look around and wonder which townhome this bell dwells. 

I look up at the Flatirons and remember 

I am here.  

I close my eyes and stand with my feet slightly more than hip width apart,

Shoulders back, palms open forward, gravitational pull. Oak tree. 

I try not to just think it, but to feel it.  

I keep thinking

“Oak Tree”

I feel patient, but waiting.

Waiting to become the oak tree.

Waiting for that great epiphany;

 the cathartic moment.

I cozy into the sensation of leaning back. I try to breathe.

How can I feel if I can’t even breathe?

I breathe and  try to become the oak tree.

I try to become another cathartic moment in the evolution of my life.

I open my eyes and see the mysterious bell passing by in the hands of a woman holding  a fig umbrella in the other. 

Every night, rain or shine, she’s been the one. 

Bell resounding.