The Year of the Great Drought, 2011 and the Year of the Great Border Conflict, 2014

-

The year of the drought -- 
When the lawns died, 
When the frogs didn't show,
When the fires did come --
I walked along the drying stream, 
Seeing the mud turn to clay.
I walked through the fields,
Seeing the dirt crack.
Then the grass dried up and
The dirt opened from cracks to crevices,
Breaches in the ground 
Where I fit my fingers.
I thought of the frogs, the crawfish,
Wondered how they would survive.

 Weeks turned to months with no rain.
The creeks withered.
Turtles disappeared,
Dark ponds became dark holes.
Cormorants looked in vain for fish 
Where no fish were. 

 The crackling grass caught fire and
News crews rushed, too late, only
To find the volunteer fire department
Had arrived and watered the brush
Enough.

 Decimation.
One in ten trees died that year.
All were hit, but the pines stressed early.
Their stress invited the beetles,
The beetles consumed mercilessly.
I lost two 60-foot pines that year,
Paid teams of Hispanic workers,
Young and old, lithe and experienced,
To cut the death away from my yard
And haul them away, the emptiness
Still odd when I look outside. 

 Memorial Park likewise lost a tenth,
The City panicked, the park's joggers complained.
But enough money replanted the lost trees.
Other parks with less appeal were not so lucky
And their skeletons remain, reminding us
How we all need those millions of drops of water
From the sky. 

 Those Hispanic workers --
I didn't ask if they were "legal" or not.
I don't know what that means --
If a body is "legal," if a man is "legal."
He works. He sweats. He breathes. He tires.
He loves. He hates. He feeds his family. 
He worked an honest work and took my cash
And I was grateful for his labor.

 Those Hispanic workers --
I didn't ask if they had wives or sons.
I don't know that they might have been 
Sent back or
Sent word to their sons to come.
Sons work. Sons earn money and can
Send back that money to poor, waiting families.

 Those Hispanic workers --
Are their sons now in some concrete room
With sixty other boys and men,
Caught
Trying to come to work, to sweat,
To cut down my dead trees?

 As they ride yellow buses to the 
Windowless, concrete rooms,
Do they look out the windows at white faces,
Full of hate and fear, hate and fear
Wondering?
Wondering why their brown skin,
Their dark hair and eyes,
Their language and religion,
Their thin clothes, thin shoes,
Their fathers' call
Makes them so hated, so feared.

 So lonely.

 One pine tree I chose not to cut down,
Even though dead, brown, now branchless.
It stands single in my back yard.
I rarely look up to see its death and
I mow around its disguised trunk each week.
Brown, dark, with a thinning bark,
I ignored its health until it was too late
Because its branches were so high 
And out of sight. I ignored it.
And it died.

 The year of the drought,
When everything turned brown,
When the fires came and
When the frogs died.
We learned for a moment
To see 
And look around us,
Seeing nature as part of us.

 Those children at the border --
A line written on a map,
A river of water in a dry land -- 
I hope we learn to look as well,
To see and look, look hard,
Seeing others as part of us.

https://plus.google.com/u/0/+BruceJMartin 
Twitter @comstone

Popular posts from this blog

Student Feedback on the State of the Public Sphere in Harris County, Texas and Houston

-
Image
I asked my students (my teachers) today what they've learned so far in this summer course on public sphere rhetoric. Some held their heads down -- because they've learned nothing? -- because they've not yet learned to speak up? -- because they don't believe in public rhetoric? -- because of their own insecurities? I don't know. Most of the responses below came from five students. Their authorities take no responsibility for communicating with the stakeholders  Authoritative texts too difficult to locate; language often inappropriately difficult for public to use  Lack of sufficient documentation and literature reflects authorities' apathy towards public engagement   Our own lack of knowledge about the power structures increases both our and their apathy  Public fails to recognize problems because we have been habituated to "learned helplessness"  Public notices but feel powerless because we've been taught we can't change anything  A
Read more

Visiting a Texas Prison

-
It's exhausting, emotionally. It's not necessarily the emotions of why he is in prison and what he experiences in prison -- that's another discussion and I separate those emotions from the visit itself. The gates open for visitors at 7:00 a.m., but that means I need to get there at 6:30 to get in line; I arrived in Beeville the previous evening and just captured a hotel. The town has limited food selections (and poor beer selection), so I have no reason to get outdoors except to appreciate a nice spring day of south Texas. That morning, the moon was near full and brilliantly shined on the flat fields around the prison, a mix of brush oaks, and the grasses for hundreds of acres on the unit property. The chilled air made the morning even more pleasant and while I waited for the gate to open, I thought about camping down here. Ultimately, the gate guards permitted visitors to approach the gate, the first of the all-grey officers: turn off the engine, open the trunk and ho
Read more

On Independence Day, Fourth of July, Fireworks Day, Whatever We Call It

-
Image
In general, I avoid observing holidays, especially those which have been marketed from an original intent of respect or adoration into a Bacchanalia of barbecue, escape from one's workplace, and the purchase of stuff we don't need, stuff that will quickly be found at the local landfill. Most of these "holidays" are far from the idea of "holy days" once on the calendar, and have been mutated into something of a masquerade. When children have little idea of the original intention of a holiday, or when adults have no idea of the same, then we might have a problem. I've spoken with adults who have no idea what Memorial Day is about, never have heard of Armistice Day, never think of veterans on Veterans Day, go into significant debt for the Feast of Saturnalia (or Festivus , if you prefer), who conflate chocolate bunnies for Easter (even for Passover), and ultimately see the Fourth of July as an opportunity to leave work, eat, complain that the Postal Servic
Read more