somehow
despite their travels on
long-sunken ships
they have nestled in amongst
those that are native
in varying shades
of the colors of God
(who you hope to meet one day),
they intertwine
their lacework leaves,
dot the sky with flowers
as bright as our imaginations,
and root out homes in
fantastical forests.
though you think that only
ugliness
breeds each time they reproduce,
for the rest of us
all we see is the beauty
that still exists in this world.
they may appear to be innocent:
barns white as new fallen snow,
idyllic as Mother Nature on
this absent-of-traffic meandering road.
in the early morning light, you
won’t hear the muffled sounds of death
clucking their way out of the
forever-closed doors and windows.
yet for half a mile or more, a circle
of stench radiates into the dewy dawn,
asking only that you take this memory
with you to the chicken aisle of the market.
Some people call me a hippie
not realizing
they’re being complimentary
because I’d rather be a hippie
who loves the earth
than a “conservative”
who does the opposite of conserving
the water that our children
will one day thirst for,
the ecosystems
that will one day
destroy the earth in their absence,
the (now demolished for mining) mountaintops
that one day inspired our ancestors.
Yes, I think a “dirty hippie”
whose feet carry the dust
of garden soil,
whose heart yearns for freedom
(our planet’s freedom)
whose soul aches to conserve
whatever it is we have left,
will one day be an admirable term.
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