I can't eat my words
and I can't drink my books
Concrete doesn't feed our crying babies
& steel cannot be passed
through these very real human organs
We can reason our way
down any rabbit hole
we can analyze further and further
until it is all just tiny bits of plastic
floating on a Pacific Garbage Dump
We can produce more and manage less
we can talk more and feel less
we can wave our fists and spit in the face
of our own mirror reflections
We can pretend that it all exists
without - an outside, external force
that is independent of our very real human will
We can want to improve that which is, ultimately, within
by narrowing our gaze solely upon that which cannot by improved
by focusing on the bad and the ugly, & all of the intolerable suffering
as it burns its image upon our retinas
We can choose to see only that one, gigantic tree
supported by an unsustainable foundation
as dis-ease winds its way up its withering trunk
We can seek to lop off the abundant bounty found atop its limbs,
as the leaves float and rustle in an easterly breeze,
especially when not all of the ailing squirrels have an equal ability to reach the same acorns
Or, we can climb up what remains and with our swift, swords of justice
we can free some of the fresh sustenance from its perch,
we can watch it tumble to the ground rolling to a final, resting place,
where bird, ant and mammal all have the same opportunity to feast
We can shift our perspective upon the wide, open prairie and instead of only recognizing the oppressive visage of Grandfather Oak, as he towers dying and lonely, we can envision
all of the bushes and the trees, all of the plants and the flowers,
- all of the you and all of the me -
giving birth to a new season.
We can celebrate Grandfather's passing
(because death is inherent to life)
together in all of our diverse unity and resplendent color.
We can dance and we can sway, as the butterflies flit and the bees pollinate.
We can trust that reproduction will ensue, that new seeds will be planted, take hold and bloom,
as vegetables flourish and harmony sings.
We can know that, eventually, Grandfather's body will be turned back unto the soil
feeding a dank, nutritious Earth where our future unfolds -
one in which our collective nourishment is tended to.
YES, We Can.
Si, se puede.
JOIN US!
