Greenhouse gases. Wildfires. Things are getting hotter.

To shield you from this latest storm, my precious baby daughter,

we’ll need a house that’s safe and warm, and free of brackish water.

With no money or insurance, I may have to be a squatter.

 

Our future’s been uncertain.  Your father’s job is gone.

Axed by tech’s insertion, he’s been angry and withdrawn.

He’ll run from all his burdens just to seek that greener lawn,

but I’ll never cast dispersions and, as always, I’ll move on.

 

Far and wide, the seas are rising. The climate’s all askew.

Fake news: endorsed denying makes it hard to know what’s true.

I know I love you deeply.  I long to hold you safe.

It consumes me so completely: You will never be a waif.

 

We’re all in this together; on the Earth we all are One.

To protect her is the only way to ensure more life to come.

Such hoarded wealth and power just preserves percents of one.

Unsustainable and cruel, this system needs to be undone.

 

The patriarchal cycle is coming to a close.

Perhaps then all the violence is simply its death throes?

Within our loving light, we transform our grim shadows.

To come as one in love creates a new adagio.

 

Upon this soggy land, underneath the waning moon,

I hereby make my vow: to the Mother I attune

my new imaginal cells in this readying cocoon.

I release them to the winds of this indomitable typhoon.

 

 

Connie Cummings, September 2017