A Haunting in Future Perfect Tense
these threads capture the shadows
and force them to account for the silence
these threads bind your sight to the sob
—Alejandra Pizarnik
Category: Reckoning 9
The Coming of Sahara
Climate Change is an angry beast and we are poking it with sticks
—Wallace Broecker
A lot is changing. A whole lot, and just like Nma, my mother, would say, I can feel it in my body. I can also feel these changes. Nonetheless, I think the changes have gone beyond feelings. I see and hear them everywhere and every passing day. At night, usually before dawn, the wind sings . . .
Lesser Known Months of the Year
April was the first to go. April had always brought the snowmelt, soft rains, herbs gathered in armfuls from the alpine meadows. But that year, there were no rains, no herbs; the streets stayed slick with dirty ice. March dragged on, but couldn’t bridge the gap. It stuttered out fifteen days late, halfway through the hollow April left. Then came fifteen days of . . .
Climate Change Is a Poem
After Eli Clare
The night we pushed the old
blue Mazda through cold
flood waters and bruises
bloomed like bayou algae
on my shoulder, neck, arms
Track Four: Cumberland Gap
Low rooms, poor light, cold water, figures on their knees or backs, lay down
boys, gonna be trouble in Cumberland Gap. Close my eyes, try to count
the conscripted fathers, husbands, sons, leased to Tennessee Coal and Iron,
Harvesting Grief
“Finding meaning in grief does not mean we’re over the loss or okay with the loss; it means we can find a way to honor the love, even in our pain.”
—David Kessler
Guarda Silencio
They arrive in the autumn
for the Day of the Dead
three days of celebrations
the Purépecha tossing oranges
into the coffin of the grinning corpse
They tried to tell you, 20000BCE – present
Dedicated Traffic Police
It is my good fortune to have seen elephants from childhood. Many would imagine I had grown up near a sanctuary, but that wasn’t the case. We lived by an iron-ore mine, and forests surrounded every colony we lived in. The townships we lived in were made by cutting through forests and hills. The roads consisted of ups and downs. Walking with our heavy school bags always . . .
Blue Speck
As Blue Speck scuttled through the forest, Keddi leaped over roots and rocks to follow. Fungus, she thought, when the scrabbler halted near a tree with broad leaves and turned over the greenish earth faster than a shovel. The creature stepped aside to reveal a trove of pink whorls, which she lifted out, leaving behind a few tendrils to grow into a new cluster. Together . . .