Climate fiction (cli-fi) and other forms of ecological literature have been around for a long time, from Edward Abbey to Margaret Atwood. Today, I decided to dabble in ecological poetry about my home state’s claim to fame.
Murder of Crows
See the Grand Canyon, an overture in foliage,
a cacophony of life. A murder
of crows, watchful, calculating,
circles above the ever-emptying Canyon.
They perch along the new uranium rigs,
rancourous tourist bathrooms, a clearance sale
of the canyon’s condors, now going out of business.
Sun-dried pilgrims flock into the sandy mouth
by gondola, elevator, jeep,
no descent beyond imagination,
to where the river once flowed when tourists trickled
by the curious dozen. The crows all grin
as the tourists cascade, a new waterfall of sweaty flesh
bringing with them whole picnics
to toss into the shock of relief,
greenless, insect-ripe, a sight to behold.
The murder of crows delights in the garbage,
lab-made meat patties, factory salads,
brownies with a genesis in HTML,
plastic coffee in plastic cups, and endless anti-depressants
packed into health bars laced with enough alcohol
to relax the fast-paced tourist.
The crows become drunk on their dessert
dropped by the sweating fingers
under their generation’s birthright summer scorches.
See the murder of crows feast
on the bodies piled into the Canyon,
sunburned limbs, imported clothes like packaging,
a soup of sun screen and contaminated sweat
fermenting in the Canyon’s deep barrels.
See the crows peck at weeds, fingers, preservatives
dumped into the bone-dry skeleton of the Southwest.
-jk
Copyright Keene Short, 2015. Photograph magnanimously donated by the spectacular travelers at Lost Compass Photography.
Damn those photographers over at Lost Compass Photography are some good guys!
And lovely poem, Keene.
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They really get around. And thank you, unknowable stranger.
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Beautiful poetry. Nice.
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Thank you very much!
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I coined cli fi term. See cli-fi.net
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Nice poem. Loved it
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PS… in 1965 summer I hiked down into
The canyon to ghost ranch with my older brother art. I was 16. Will never forget experience. So yr poem and pic resonated with me now at age 67 in Taiwan.!!!!
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I’m glad my work left an impression! I can only imagine what the Grand Canyon was like in 1965, but I’d like to imagine it was a bit quieter, a bit more peaceful than it is today. Thank you so much for stopping by!
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