Yearning for Community in a Dying Place

Published in Little Living Room Issue 7: A Year on From COP in 2023

steal a tree and watch leaves fall,

one by one, watch as a life force 

transforms to dead roots, stumps

is this where community lives?

built atop hacked logs, sanded down

a wooden chair by the sea

waves crash, sea breeze blows

we hold hands, bracing for the floods

is community safety?

where will we shelter from self-inflicted decimation?

is it distance, far removed?

is mars far enough to flee from our devastation?

is community the place that i was raised?

despite settlers that will never claim me as their own

is it where tree roots expand, skies grey 

and my roots begin to slip further away?

what is a safe place when your place has been stolen?

how can we save the climate when the climate they raised us in

was land theft, robbed riches and dispossessed diaspora babies?

we must preserve the miracle of the ocean, 

garbage patches, leaked petroleum, 

decapitated tree limbs, chemical sickness –

visceral images of our greed, spiritual illness.

how barred must souls be to deny our decay?

dead coral, seafoam, and fluorescent algae

steal a tree and watch it struggle to lay its roots

i am the miracle of the ocean, displaced diaspora baby

dead logs in the sea, drifting towards community

hands intertwined, holding each other 

as the floods hit and droughts rage

crafting collective rafts through mutual aid,

displaced diaspora babies, rise up

shake down the systems that shattered our ancestors’ birthplaces

plant a seed, watch love sow. diaspora babies – ‘tis our time to grow.