Fault Lines

It’s not our fault,

The fault lines that crash

A criss-cross our hearts

That we are nothing less

Than a series of natural disasters

Hurricane sadness, tornado anxiety,

Magma-hot rage, and the life-choking

Ash that comes after.

We did not ask to be

Big-bang-birthed into this universe

Yet here we are: Existing,

Moving in circles,

Living out little self-destructions

Until the inevitable end.

I’m here to tell you

That we may begin and end as dirt

And dirt is nothing but decay

But between begin and end, we grow

Grass, poppies, sky-touching trees.

And when unthoughtful, unthankful

Lightning strikes and burns

Our forests down to bones

Again, again, we grow.