we the children and our mother’s one body

we the children of mother earth

hold her hand as we force the

smoke down her lungs, watching

(carbon dioxide, chlorofluorocarbons,

methane, ozone, nitrous oxide)

as she attempts at holding her breath.

she doesn't want to breathe, but

our sweet mother holds her tongue

and takes all the pain we lash 

at her, the whip of men on her

conscience every waking second.

bless her soul, the mother who

never sleeps, to care for her

feeble-minded, thick-headed

children who she holds near and

dear to her heart, their souls

joining her in the dance of 

leaves of grass, watching her from

their seats in heaven or their

chains in hell, always watching

as their mother strives forward.

her blood is clogged with 

microplastics, her lungs full

of greenhouse gases, eyes

clouded with the chemical

fog, pores clogged from

landfills, but there is only

so much that a mother can

take from her spoiled children.

so when the volcanoes erupt,

those are her screams of

agony.

when the tectonic plates shift,

those are her veins pulsing,

struggling to keep her moving. 

when ocean waters rush to shore

she is crying, pleading for her

children to help her clean the

mess that they painted onto 

her one body, her one body.

and when we reach for father mars

no one hears her lonesome cries 

at night, begging not to be abandoned

in the beaten, bruised state that we,

her children, her only children

have put her in.