Читать книгу Dialogues with Rising Tides - Kelli Russell Agodon - Страница 13

When you broke my recycle bin, I

started calling you Fresh Kills.

I want to keep you in my plastic

Happy Meal heart, but what snaps open

stays on Earth forever, my center floating

down a canal until it’s swallowed by a seal.

Who cares our plastic drifts as a tagalong

to the sunset, an autobiography of artificial,

a dead whale washed up in the Philippines,

eighty-eight pounds of plastic in its gut?

Damn the turtles! Customers at McDonald’s

want their straws! And we could be practical

lovers if we remembered to bring

our reusable totes into the store—you said

the cashier gave me the stink eye for forgetting,

but I was lost in my own head thinking

about my grandmother in hospice, leaving

the store with a casket of even more plastic bags.

It hurts to say my convenience is more important

than the sea. I write a postcard to Earth

—I love you, but watch me navigate your landfills

in stilettos, let me kill your buzz. And you know

I’m talking about the bees now. My hands in the dirt—

if you want to gather honey, don’t kick over every hive.