“Despite the environmental panic that’s now at the heart of this poem, it began as a simple meditation on shifting landscapes. Each time I go home to visit family, I notice how much more has changed: new roads, new stores, bigger buildings. The poem sought to consider these types of changes which can be subtle and barely noticeable, or—when viewed after a significant period of time has passed—immense and stunning.”
Most likely, you think we hated the elephant,
the golden toad, the thylacine and all variations
of whale harpooned or hacked into extinction.
It must seem like we sought to leave you nothing
but benzene, mercury, the stomachs
of seagulls rippled with jet fuel and plastic.
You probably doubt that we were capable of joy,
but I assure you we were.
We still had the night sky back then,
and like our ancestors, we admired
its illuminated doodles
of scorpion outlines and upside-down ladles.
Absolutely, there were some forests left!
Absolutely, we still had some lakes!
I’m saying, it wasn’t all lead paint and sulfur dioxide.
There were bees back then, and they pollinated
a euphoria of flowers so we might
contemplate the great mysteries and finally ask,
“Hey guys, what’s transcendence?”
And then all the bees were dead.
Want to read more from Matthew? Check out his work here.