American Nature

American Nature

For Robb Elementary, Sandy Hook, and countless others.

Another school shooting. 21 this time. Unfathomable, 

as the silent trees stand unmoving, their toothy leaves

slick with dew. Nearby, a fox squirrel scampers over

dried pines, sharp mouths bright and full of hunger. The clouds

are painted artifacts in the sky. Each fluorescent blade 

of grass – tiny, miraculous. I am sick with the colors 

of bluebonnets, of mountain laurels, of orange and apple 

blossoms bleeding their petals on the sleeping ground. The white-tailed 

doe and her fawn watch me warily from the forest, quick eyes afraid,

and with good reason: They know we cull what we cannot control. 

Let us lay down before them, an offering: to burrow in the loamy earth  

as vines wrap around our ankles, our well-heeled shoes filling with dirt;

wildflowers to cover our empty eyes like a promise. An almost worthy sacrifice, 

I think - the sky a robin’s egg blue and endless. Nature does not kill 

with malicious intent. Not like us, the reckless swarms sharp 

and flighted and full of wrath. Entitled, we pluck our young

from this world carelessly like dandelion globes, their delicate 

pappus trembling slightly in the breeze. Each time, we make 

a fragile wish. And each time, one greedy breath,

and they’re lost to the wind.