in Art/Poetry/Science/Spotlight

from, Singing at the Bone Tree


Remember the nameless ones
Who survived the kiss of glacier 
The years of lean and those of plenty
Whose genes slipped through pogroms
Who turned right instead of left
Whose soft, quick tongues made jokes of fate
Whose fingers shaped scraps into latkes 
Who clung to their traditions, their songlines
Their medicine plants, their kinship
With Grandmother Earth, Grandfather Sky.

Blessed are the vanished ones
Whose habitat became expendable
Whose lives are extinguished by indifference
Whose pelts, horn and other body parts
Are worth more to those
Whose backs, walls and libidos they adorn
Those creeping, flying, swimming, leaping ones
Whose raucous calls, gauzy wings,
Webbed toes and gaudy hues
Will not be heard or seen again.

Give thanks to the myriad scavengers
Who scuttle and hover; who devour matter
Whose unseen industry tidies away death
Who rag-pick life from a mountain of leavings
Whose ingenuity fashions answers from decay 
Whose webs and threads spin shrouds
Blessed are the wanderers who leave no trace
Who huddle under flyovers, in rotten wood 
Who eat from skips and tips and gutters
Who sup from the kindness of strangers
Who sleep nightly under the infinite.

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