Crestfallen, we stomped out boots over the crunchy leaves and down the steps into the subway tunnels where grieving commuters tuned out a little more than usual today
I thought I heard Mother Earth say “In some ways, she’d be just as bad anyway” as evidenced by the strange sunlight of this strange November day. “She did this too, in some kind of way…”
And I don’t like to argue with Mother Earth, but the day before I had to tell her “A flood is gonna come if I don’t make this strange sunlight go away”
So I sat down on the part of this walk that makes sense to me, where the beaten-up harbor smells like the sea. It’s where I usually go to get clarity – but that day? So scared of the blood, he took the wind right out of me.
“But you can swim and handle the wind” she whispers as the tide comes in.”
Yes, it’s true, I know how to swim. But it was others who’d sink as the tide came in.
And though I am the one who doesn’t need to sun every day
The plants, they will die if you take it away!
And, then, the sweet Mother Earth that once cradled me when I was ill
Disappeared with the wind and I was forced to be still
The clouds blocked the sun and the beams went away
And the shine on the harbor went from blue to gray
And it was 8:55 so we headed to the ship
Latinas and Muslims and LGBT folks in the mix
In shock, you’d wonder if we were indifferent to it
But the wind hit us harder than we’d like to admit
And it wasn’t until I left the embrace of the mother
That I approached the crowded boat with my sisters and brothers
Me light, them dark, we were separated at birth
As it rained on their crops and I drank from the Earth
I drank from the Earth, having no idea
The frenzy that floods cause for the people I see here
Here in the city that stole me from trees
Where I learned from others how to master the breeze
I breathed in their struggles, I stood in their trains
Until I could no longer swallow water, knowing how much they get screwed when it rains
So I am now on this boat with the gardeners and their weeds
It’s a dreary ride with an oppressive breeze
And I lock eyes with a woman, she’s darker than me
The fear. We connect. I finally see what she sees.