2026-07-01
Our big, beautiful, disconnected masses
for Simon from Lord of the Flies
I once knew a glacier
before it turned into a lake,
picked berries on a moraine
slipping on snowmelt,
where it now stays brown.
I once wondered how
it would start—dramatic,
with floods and high flames,
rising tribalism, or subtle
like lilacs blossoming in fall,
chaos seeping into veins.
Forests are migrating too,
their seeds cross borders
with wind, water, animals,
and their movements—
can be trusted.
Maybe there is a beast…
maybe...it’s only us.
We wall the ocean while
the pig’s head oils its stick.
Can we rescue us from us
if the gaps keep widening?
*Italicized line is from Lord of the Flies (Simon) by William Golding