catapult magazine

The earth speaks

by Naomi R. Wenger and David Wenger

Giving voice to the earth is a monumental task, but one that we feel keenly as we anticipate the loss of what is here and its replacement with a hidden harbinger of what is more dangerous than terrorism, more insidious than pollution, and almost as ubiquitous and purposed as the air we breathe.

How massive the equipment that bears down upon me, obliterating all that springs forth from within:

oaks, cherries, hickories, sumac, beech groves to come, sassafras for tea, apple trees, dogwood, broom sedge, bouncing bet, butterfly weed, wild asters, Queen Anne’s Lace, yarrow, goldenrod, black berries, black raspberries, wild grapes mushrooms and even poison ivy;

ensnaring, crushing and displacing all that finds a resting place upon me:

box turtles, snapping turtles, turkeys, wrens, evening grosbeaks, pileated woodpeckers, flickers, downy woodpeckers, dragonflies, dung beetles, butterflies, sow bugs, striped beetles, ground hogs, chipmunks, rabbits, gophers, squirrels, deer, raccoons, coyotes, hog snakes, black racers and garden snakes.

How violent the scoops that cut me open,

          deep wounds bleeding mound upon mound of soil,

         digging down, down, down;

         reversing infertile dirt and top soil so that I am left scarred and barren.

How repulsive the implant of metal veins

         coursing black tar from sandy deposits through me

         to be refined and then used against me to power more machines that ravish and kill.

Oh, to be caressed with soft footfalls and tender scratching,

         to be gentled into producing that which gives life to all,

         to be without the pain of more, bigger, faster.

How long ?

How deep?

How big?

How much is enough?