By Mia Dyson, 2021
And when it comes to the end
after
the seas have roared over the shoreline and the dunes and the seaside towns
after they have lapped salty froth into city streets
after
the forests have screamed their flaming primal scream
howling in agony and despair for the lost
the birds! My God, the birds!
When it comes to the end of the end of us
when we who believed or worse! we who ignored
the murderous lie that we were to have
dominion
over all living things
over the sea
the air
the land the rocks!
When it comes to the end of the end of us
a fine remnant of those not ‘us’
will crawl and slither and swish out of the smoking embers
they will rest a while
and then
slowly
they will begin again the round of life
the cockroaches
the rats
the jellyfish
the moss
those we never dreamt to count among ‘us’
will carry on and rebuild
they will multiply and evolve
they will replenish the earth
and restore a glistening balance of give and take,
living and dying upon the earth
after the end of the end of us
Imagine
if we had gathered all that is into our hearts with trembling gratitude
if we had sung of our belonging rather than
our dominion
if, as a child leans into her mother’s love we had leant with tenderness into the land
If we had known just how deep and wide the us really was
Perhaps even now, with our dying breath it is not too late
to utter our thanks and pray for renewal
with
or without
us.