we the children of mother earth
hold her hand as we force the
smoke down her lungs, watching
(carbon dioxide, chlorofluorocarbons,
methane, ozone, nitrous oxide)
as she attempts at holding her breath.
she doesn't want to breathe, but
our sweet mother holds her tongue
and takes all the pain we lash
at her, the whip of men on her
conscience every waking second.
bless her soul, the mother who
never sleeps, to care for her
children who he holds near and
dear to her heart, their souls
joining her in the dance of
leaves of grass, watching her from
their seats in heaven or their
chains in hell, always watching
as their mother strives forward.
her blood is clogged with
microplastics, her lungs full
of greenhouse gases, eyes
clouded with the chemical
fog, pores clogged from
landfills, but there is only
so much that a mother can
take from her spoiled children.
so when the volcanoes erupt,
those are her screams of
when the tectonic plates shift,
those are her veins pulsing,
struggling to keep her moving.
when ocean waters rush to shore
she is crying, pleading for her
children to help her clean the
mess that they painted onto
her one body, her one body.
and when we reach for father mars
no one hears her lonesome cries
at night, begging not to be abandoned
in the beaten, bruised state that we,
her children, her only children
have put her in.