Writer’s Digest November Poem-a-Day 2017 Challenge #16. Theme: Poem to the World

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Dear World,

I believe you are older than they say you are. You’re looking rough in spots, but aging gracefully in others. I get that people can be real pimples—pimples you try to wash away through floods, exfoliate with earthquakes, or cauterize with wildfires.

Just know that even though you will outlive every last one of us, you are not eternal. You have no soul, for you show, with your volatile temper, your inability to discern the good eggs from the bad.

I tell you this: I worship your Creator, not His creation, meaning you—the earth was made for humans, not the other way around.

However, I realize we’re supposed to take care of our home, yet so many of don’t even take care of ourselves. I’m sorry that some have turned your waters into hormone baths in an attempt to reduce your population. I’m sorry that others rape your body for your organs, but isn’t that called industry? I’m sorry that still more poke at your oily pores until those fossil fuels run into your waters, but those fuels help keep that industry going—at least until we find green solutions.

Mother Earth, I can only help you by not hurting you, but to live the way I want, I must consume concrete things (i.e. resources), so that I can create abstract things (stories and the like).

You are but a glimpse of the world to come—heaven and hell coexisting. You were once so Edenic, but I know you blame us, especially those with the double X chromosomes. I wasn’t there, you know, so don’t get all huffy (or naturally disastrous) with me.

Maybe you should look at a planet like Mars and thank your lucky constellations that you aren’t just a ball of red dust. Believe me when I say that you are so beautifully diverse, so cosmically cosmopolitan, with your mountains and your valleys, your deserts and beaches and rainforests. Be thankful that you weren’t stuck with a name like Uranus, or demoted like Pluto (maybe if Pluto had people on it, it would’ve been better off). It’s your inhabitants that make you special—the fact that you can sustain life, so there! I mean, really, if we didn’t live here, would we care so much about saving you?

Sure, the other planets are left the hell alone (that’s the Libertarian way of life), but they won’t live near the life you will. You probably have all the diamonds our solar system (stars aren’t really diamonds, any more than the moon is made of cheese), which makes you quite a rich lady. And think about it like this: When we die, you keep all the spoils. So many jewelry cases (you say coffins, I say treasure chests) are buried in you. So what if they come with bones? Just think of skeletons as deconstructed jewelry trees.

My advice? Enjoy all this while you last.

Yours truly,
Sarah Richards

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2017-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-16

 

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