THIS IS A FORMAL APOLOGY / J. L. Poetry
PROLOGUE: MOTHER-EARTH, FOUND shrivelled up & stashed away in a battered shoebox, petrol moat around her cardboard castle. THIS IS A FORMAL APOLOGY TO THE GROUND WE STAND ON: for the shrapnel that has shredded her skin & the gas chamber we’ve made out of her ribs. for celebrating as if it is our birthright. INTERLUDE: SALTWATER SWIMMING SESSIONS shoulder-deep, waist-deep, knee-deep, ankle-deep (our growth spurts have stopped but the water keeps going down down down.) THIS IS A RITUALISTIC PUBLIC DISPLAY OF PENANCE: someone throws cash down from up there somewhere & we use it to stem the blood flow. (someone yells. someone cries. someone prays.) EPILOGUE: MOTHER-EARTH, HERE STILL still, still (we shake the grime off the old canvas & try again.) we put her on life support & scour the algorithmic junkyard for answers, pray to a luminous metal god. (for all that we have learnt & lost, we know how to stagger on.)
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