All animal life moves from hatch or birth to breed;
then on to its own hatch or birth, then dying
to repeat again, infinitely and intimately chained
in love or indifference to the earth
whose body feeds us, and who will incorporate our own bodies
when we have no further need of flesh. That matter,
our substance, manifested in wings, fins, legs, or claws;
exoskeleton, shell, fur, or skin,
anything that might swim in or breathe air or water;
it is all life, and holy.
This animal has a mind, vision, and dreams that reach further
than the limits of its skin. Our bones, stacked upright
and stretched to their tallest
cannot by themselves touch the clouds,
and our walking does not topple trees, as the dinosaurs’ did.
We are made weak and aware of our weakness
and would spend our lives hiding from things
stronger or faster than ourselves, and hungrier;
we with no claws or teeth sharp enough
to defend fragile flesh, and no shells to protect it.
Our weapon is awareness
and our strength is in building,
in shaping environments to suit us.
But have we finally become too good
at this survival game, now exhausting the earth
beneath our feet and poisoning
what we must drink and breathe to live?
Perhaps that, this knowing
we have gone too far
in this experiment to ever succeed
can be what saves us,
and perhaps what is needed
is for us to bend these long legs
and ask for help
from anyone
who might be listening:
God help us
someone help us
us help us.
Susan Daniels Poetry 