grow the trees
you chop down
with you careless acts
I am ocean
for from my womb
all beings are birthed
I am desert
my long, voluptuous dunes
now burnt to drought
by August sun
my blood
the dyeing rivers
you pollute
with discarded greed
and selfish denial
my breasts
are sacred mountains
climbed for your egos sake of reaching the top
your summit
my nipple
without soft, tenderness of touch
that is required for such a holy journey
you, who call me home
I am not something to be bought or sold
I am alive
and in the eyes of every living creature
you will find me
their mother
mirrored back to you
do you dare look?
can you hold my gaze?
while you run your fingers through my sunlit hair of wheat at harvest?
that same nourishing grain you paint with poison for your benefit?
and do you care?
when you stain the path of this delicate wrist as you wind your way along my enchanted forest of pine?
you, my child,
who call yourself king
have scratched my skin raw
etching your name across virgin land
dark bruises mark my thighs
as you drill into the deepest marrow of these bones
searching for more gold
more silver
more of my life giving waters
you continue to ask for more
more of my precious milk
more of my cherished stone
you always want more
and I give it
again and again and again
I give
but now, my pets
I have run dry
I crack, I moan and I quake
I break open in pain
I am rain
I burn, I flame, I heat
I erupt with the force of my grief
and then
I cry
for days and days and days
I cry
and you, my dears
still look to my husband’s heavens
asking why
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