three things i want to give you to make sure that tomorrow is not too late for my hometown
Foster City, CA
2024, Junior, Poetry & Spoken Word
i. // a newspaper article from five years ago, titled “foster city may be underwater by 2050”
(i underlined may three times, so my little sister wouldn’t be scared) //
i swallow the words with the sick fascination my cousin has when
he pokes at the dying beetles in our yard. startling trends and rising sea levels sting
my throat and i think i should take the grape tylenol my parents
give me when i’m sick. i would tilt my head back until i could count the
ceiling panels as i waited from the last drop of medicine to slip onto my tongue—
i wanted more, always more, even back then. but my lawn is
more gray than green and having too much water is an impossibility, so
i flip past the concern to the sunday funnies. in my mind, the beetle slumps
underneath the stare of its loveless god. as my cousin’s prodding
continues, the imaginary me looks away, pretending
that that delicate speck of consciousness isn’t
dying, dying, dead.
ii. // a polaroid i took of the ocean when i realized i owed her an apology //
soon, our sea wall will be raised onto this dirt trial i stand on. but
for now, i stare at the sea foam chained to the boulders that line the coast. the
blood of the sea-turned-junkyard leaves a dark stain the color of
cellophane-wrapped regret. the ocean unleashes wave after wave of
liquid fury at the rocks, punching their jagged edges—yet another
victim paying the price for our crimes. i run the one-point-four miles home. i think:
when the sea rushes through the cracks in the wall we’d molded with
our blind fists full of buts and what-ifs, we will have to move so quick our
mistakes can’t catch up to us. i think: i have to run to faster—faster—faster—my
lungs shudder as i breathe in shards of cellophane and my shins throb with acid and
i wonder if, when the time comes,
i will be fast enough to outrun the truth.
iii. // my heart, pounding with hope at 178 beats per minute //
my heart thrums with possibility more than it does with
the ache of exhaustion. i tip my head back to the sky and
hold on to the last drops of salvation, remember?
long walks and sleeping cars feel like a rubber band finally
released of tension. i make a compost bin of
an old home depot bucket, use the soil for the cacti garden i
planted last summer. the plants glow in the sunlight and
i watch beetles skitter around, brimming with life. so
as the waves kiss bruises against our sea wall,
my heart whispers
foolishly,
beautifully,
unrelentingly,
maybe, maybe, maybe—
Reflection
Reflection
For most of my life, I have understood without truly understanding the existence of climate change, in the same way that you hear without truly hearing a constant hum of background noise. It wasn’t until I learned that my hometown was at severe risk of flooding that I began to view climate change as an actual problem. Over the years, I have watched the impacts of our collective actions in real time—back during distance learning, the sky turned red from wildfire smoke. Our sea wall was raised two years ago, blocking all views of the ocean. Last year, school was closed after a nearby city flooded. All these events have contributed to my growing feelings of fear, frustration, and guilt. In this poem, I wanted to share, as honestly as possible, my perspective on and experience with climate change. Often, I feel too small and too powerless to do anything. While writing this piece, I found a plethora of reasons to give up hope for our planet. There seemed to be too many people who did not care and too few who did. However, the more I searched, the more I found stories of people who were creating change. I learned about students who were creating community gardens and advocating for less plastic at schools. I learned that I, too, could make a difference. Now, I have my own compost bin at home, and I speak both passionately and often with my family and friends about climate change. In the future, I hope to use my voice and my art to inspire others in my community to take steps towards change, too.