To Know Mother Earth

Revisiting a poem by me

Shaking and quivering can mean life or death.

The earth trembles beneath us,
not as an enemy,
but as a living body reminding us
that nothing alive remains perfectly still.

Rattling fossil lines of ancient bones
bear witness to civilizations,
creatures,
and forests that once believed
their seasons would never end.

Toppling domino tombstones fall one after another,
silent monuments to the illusion
that permanence was ever ours to claim.

We pretend we are separate.

We are not.

The breath that fills our lungs
was first exhaled by forests.
The rivers flowing through our veins
have wandered the earth for millions of years.
The calcium in our bones
was forged in ancient stars.

There is no death,
only transformation.

Yet we continue to squeeze Mother Earth
into the tight corset of human ingenuity,
consumption,
and endless accumulation,
asking her to sustain
what no living body was ever meant to bear.

We drape her magnificent beauty
in a poison soaked shroud
woven from discarded plastic,
chemical runoff,
burning skies,
and the arrogance
that believes every gift of nature
exists only for our taking.

We rake away the forests
that patiently gathered the breath we depend upon.

We plow the living soil

Tapping the riches of her breast too often
Until it forgets how to nourish itself.

We scrape away mountaintops
in search of minerals
whose value fades almost as quickly
as the machines that extracted them.

We fracture the ancient bedrock,
cracking open the deep memory of the earth
to reach buried reservoirs of energy,
never asking what invisible wounds
we leave behind.

Still she responds
with astonishing generosity.

Trees stand akimbo against the wind,
their branches reaching toward one another
like old friends refusing to surrender.

Braided rivers continue their timeless journey,
finding new pathways around every obstacle,
teaching us that resilience
is quieter than conquest.

When storms finally release their burden,
her rainbow tears stretch across the sky,
not as symbols of defeat,
but as reminders
that beauty can still emerge
from grief.

She offers renewal.

She offers forgiveness.

She covers scorched fields
with the green insistence of new life.

She fills the air
with birdsong,
blossoms,
and the fragrance of beginnings.

Again she whispers,
“I have not given up on you.”

And once more,

despite everything we have done,

she gives us spring.