Forced

 

She remembers when 

They 

were just

minute motes

swirling

 

in the hot, dark soup

of her rocky womb.

But that was eons ago

and 

She has been through a lot since then —

Periods of Hot-Quaking,

Times of Near-Forgetting

in Frozen Solitude.

More recently,

She enjoyed

a long, gentle Calm —

Rocking her babies

in the not-too-warm sun,

Singing lullabies in

Temperate Tempos,

Full Bellies,

Safe Homes,

A Steading Sowing and Sewing,

A Sturdy, Patterned Quilt of Seasons.

But now,

They are pushing her

in unprecedented ways —

the ugliest, 

most clever,

most naked 

of her many children.

Forced by Them,

Her breath is coming

Hot and Fast now,

Furious, Deep, and Destructive,

Bending, Breaking, and Snapping

some of her Eldest and most beloved —

Their ancient, verdant crowns —

Fallen and Gone.

In places,

She is Coerced

into intense, unnatural, and unwanted

Pregnancy.

She bulges green —

Exploding 

in pollen, ticks, and mosquitoes,

Buds bursting painfully 

in midwinter,

Cyanobacteria blooming 

phosphorescent pustules

poisoning blood.

In other domains,

She grows dry

and diminishes.

Once-rich soil

cracks, flakes, 

and parches into

Earthen Eczema.

She yearns

for the soothing cool

of her peaks and poles.

Alas, her built-in balms,

her reserves of stability,

shrink faster each year,

Lost as tears racing

over rock, shore, and plain.

Her resentment burns

and she considers 

shaking these Young Ones

off the mantle.

She 

Plays with plagues,

Fidgets with fires,

Fiddles with floods,

Watches Them

Squirm, 

Deny,

Flee,

and 

Fight 

amongst themselves.

She 

Sighs

and 

Strains

to hold them,

overflowing her tired arms,

for one more year.