The Wake of Disaster
(after
the tsunami in south Asia)
You reminded
us
that you breathe,
rebellious mistress,
that life lies beneath
the shifting civilizations
that adorn your skin like tattoos,
beneath the shanties and resorts,
bracelets of cheap trinkets,
around your oceans and wilderness.
You made
us see
our lover untamed –
we expected docility,
like the peaceful face
of the child unclaimed
in the morgue,
her frail body discovered,
washed ashore
by gentle waves.
We’d
like you to remain at rest,
a coy, tropical princess,
passive like that girl,
eyes closed, mouth unstressed,
no longer gasping for breath,
her blue bodice
draped over her stilled chest,
a calm, inviting sea
edged by a skirt of floral green.
We dug
and raped
while you slept,
littered your valleys and hills,
built teeming cities where people
cling to life like vegetation once did,
but without roots anchored
in your fragile flesh,
we ignored your beating heart
and your delicate breath.
We say
we love you
but not your moods,
as life bursts forth, renewed
with tempests, and floods,
your generous heart sustains
with volcanoes and earthquakes,
rocking us with a mother’s rhythm,
to comfort, even as you smother
your dear, unsuspecting children.