Earthbound (for NaPoWriMo, Day 22)

Weren’t we supposed to be
living on Venus by now, or the moon—
everything enclosed, climate-controlled,
rational? Wasn’t I supposed to be wearing
something in neoprene, high-collared
(though tight across my breasts), having
scientific, yet sex-infused discussions
with men? (We would address each other
as “Dr. So-and-So,” reverting to first names
in moments of passion, high tension. What
happened to that plan?) Where are the pellets,
the ones I was supposed to eat? The capsules,
I mean, to replace all that ridiculous food.
So many resources, for something so
temporary. So much time spent managing
something so crazy, so untenable, this planet.
Earth. We should have known it would
never let us leave. Even now—with
tsunamis, superstorms, melting ice,
all the rest—even now, it sends up
its tender shoots, waves its
cloud arms, says,
“Stay. Stay.

 

 

NaPoWriMo, Day 22 prompt: Write an Earth Day poem.

Advertisements
Standard

Sofia Elena, Driver, Nissan Altima

My mother told me it is cold here.
I thought Ohio is near West Virginia
and West Virginia is near Virginia,
and this is in the south of the country.
But now there is snow. I have called
the woman at the real estate office,
the woman who showed me the
apartment in the fall. I have said
that I don’t know how to drive
in the snow, and also that I
do not have the clothes
for cold weather.

She has told me nothing,
this woman. I think that she
and I will not be friends. Her
voice says to me, Why did not
my husband get this job? Why
are you coming here? Her voice
laughs at me because of
these questions.

I think that this is not my fault,
that the company believes
an engineering degree is
necessary in order to
schedule the workers.
I have this degree.

If I am not coming here, I am
working at the dam in Brasil. 
My mother prefers that. It is
closer. She thinks that I will
fall in love, stay here, even
when eight months is over.

I do not see anything to love.
I know there is shale under the
snow, and gas inside the shale,
and money to keep me here
for eight months.

That is all.

 

 

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.

 

Standard