My poem titled “Borders are in Season” won second prize at the 2019 Westminster Art Festival in Portage, MI. Read it here: https://www.westminsterartfestival.org/2019-poetry.
What Must the Trees Think? Anger that we lumber their siblings? Terror when the ground we frack? Pity that we have brought ourselves to the brink? Befuddlement at our human quibbling? Despair that they can’t fight back? The willow, bent in mourning, weeps for her children and the aspen quakes, whether from fear or rage. I do not know. Having dreamt of brilliant sun and gentle rain, will the trees wake from their deep winter slumber surprised at what has become? Or do they know, from the frog boiling of the earth, what we have done? The revered oak, Mayflower witness, attests to the best and worst we have to offer this earth. How disappointed it must be should it even deign to notice our self-serving exertions. To the Great Sequoia who watches five generations of oak come and go we must be nothing more than malaria filled mosquitos. The Bristlecone Pine birthed high upon mountain before the first stone of the first Egyptian pyramid was laid looks daily into the face of God. It most likely cares not one whit about humanity. I can almost hear, on a quiet day, the trees wheeze and cough, choking on our smog, whimpering at the ill taste of pesticide cocktails as they suck at the ground, a child with straw searching for the last bit of nourishment in the bottom of a glass. ©2017 Kenneth W. Arthur