The Anguish of the Great Mother

A Poem about Climate

Photo by Marcus Ganahl on Unsplash

I can only see what they show on TV
But do I need more?
The skies black, the heat runs the wind.
People in nursing homes cannot breathe.
Young reporters choke on the air.
Fire melts the rubber tires
and the fire trucks cannot move.
An idiot will blame the people;
another will blame the leaders.
but everything is crisp dry
and winds blow beyond
all sense of normalcy.

This is what climate change looks like.
Fires tear through the great city.
Water tears apart the mountain town.
Ice accumulates on southern roads—
trees snap and cars slide into ditches.
And in the north?
only three inches of snow
where there should be two feet.
Last year, none all year.
How does one plan
when everything is so weird?
when nothing stays the same?

The forces at play
are out of our control.
I want, as a man, to protect
but I cannot protect.
I want, as a man, to save
But I cannot save.
I want, as a man, to fight,
but there is nothing to fight
and there is no way to win.

*

The Earth creates its defense
against us humans.
We used to worship her,
but she is angry.
She is very angry.

“There are too many of you,” she says.
“My little scoldings fail.
You never see. You never look.
I could provide if you will change,
but you are an inferior species,
and your petty fears
are damaging everything.
You think you can save me.
You cannot.
I will outlast you.
Only I am forever.”

She rested a moment,
drew back into a relaxed coil,
like a snake.

“You leave me no option.
I must reduce your numbers.”
So spoke Mother Earth.
Bird flu will come.

*

Some people carry the pain for us.
They are in the fight. They try to save.
They try to protect. They are
the ones whose homes floated away;
the people whose grazing lands
have been under water for two years.
the people whose lives quietly vanished
as the cows could not eat,
as the trees refused to produce,
as the coffee plantations failed,
as the olive trees turned brittle
and the grape vines withered.
They carry the pain.
They carry our pain.
They carry it for us.
These people know climate change
and we don’t even thank them.

*

Our great mother is crying
and still, she provides.

“Why can’t you see?” she cries.
“There is another way!”
Mother Earth hangs her head in sorrow.
A tear falls down her face.
Her anguish tumbles into the river,
and her tears destroy.

Can we not see that the rainstorms flood us
because she cannot stop weeping?
Can we not see that the fires are her wrath,
wild and uncontrolled, as she
is seized with her anger?
Can we not see the drought emerge
from her inner sadness,
the dry despair of love unrequited?
Her despair is the growing
barrenness of the earth.
And yet, she provides.
She loves.
She heals.
She holds us in her sacred arms.
We do not deserve her abundance.

Is there another path for us?
Could we let go of hope?
Could we give up despair?
Could we, instead, learn to love
the earth again?

*

Love doesn’t always mean kindness.
And despite her anger,
Mother Earth is beautiful.
The night sky sings to us,
the notes bouncing off each planet,
a whole symphony echoing
from the moon.
The clear, crisp quiet
sings in our souls—
enough, for some,
to get us to pray.

The morning birdsongs delight
and hang an involuntary smile
on our faces,
for we take these as signs
that all is well,
that there can be joy,
and that despite it all,
this earth is worthy of love.
Yes, our mother earth is angry
and she can be mean,
but she provides anyway.
The question is not
will she love us?
The question is,
can we love her?

When I think about it
I realize:
I must love her
for I have no other choice,
and neither do you.

Anthony Signorelli