Washed & Heaved & Waiting
2018, High School, Poetry
gull flocks wade in an unseemly wasteland–
an impending graveyard, where
bones only unearth themselves
at breaking dawn: when we, so lowly,
release. viscous like spilt blood, creeps
the petroleum. fatty as marrow, pulp and
wasted rations. and mirror the surge:
fashion tangled nets, mangle the ocean’s face,
sculpt a brilliant bottle, only to
fire it in cold deep waters and fracture
nearby faces of ceramic calcium shell. who
is spreading miasma as seamlessly as an infant’s
breath? a bereaved breath that
empties itself from delicate gills and hearty lungs,
a breath– lost in the war of false politics,
false characters, false promises.
they loiter at the gates of ocean-washed ribcages,
too inflated to enter, too inflated to understand.
even underwater, the bass discern
a fake gold cabinet drowning in a story of salt,
blind to roaring currents devouring lives.
it takes cognizance to listen.
the universal arid world prays;
bone-bleached coral, ashen skies,
forgotten creatures, wrecked beaches,
a million souls lost beyond the seascape–
these are the refugees of the ocean,
awaiting a savior,
scene: end of the world
skipping copper pebbles,
the obtuse fisherman claims that he
will become a birdhunter as the
gray gull floats
As current American politics devalue the environment with groundless claims and outlandish policies, I grow increasingly enraged. Yet this seemingly wayward anger has pushed me to be more cognizant of our effects on the environment, pushing me to do the little things like picking up trash--which can amount to much, much more--and even write this poem. Here I explore both corporate and civilian pollution, ranging from oil spills to ocean litter. I criticize the government, who turns a blind eye to climate change. And despite these setbacks, I hope to remind readers that the planet requires healing, and that they can provide it. There exists nations without clean water and ecosystems that are ravaged still waiting for aid, in spite of their unfortunate situations. As members of a First World country, we have the power to aid these areas, and ultimately, as represented by my poem’s climax, escape the grim future that awaits us all.