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Old women talk about old things: history, myth, magic and their
checkered pasts, about what changes and what does not.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Testament of this White Woman of America




My ancestors yes came here and
As it was in 1745,
No doubt they pushed the people 
who lived here first
Away—
Or worse. 

Over this, I have no control, 
but I still carry my ancestor’s
responsibility 
to those First Nations
whose rights, ways, and lives
we stone house people have washed over,
A catastrophe hurtling from the sea.



We have lived here now, we albinos members
of the monkey tribe,
For 200 years and more.
We have eaten the food that grows here,
Are born and nourished by this soil.
How
Can we remain so disrespectful
Of the same land which is 
now OUR birth mother too?
She our soul, 
as she was the soul
of nations she nourished before.



The 1st Nations knew how to live here, 
Lightly in this paradise
Of plenty. 
They understood the cycles, how the
Foxes and rabbits,
Rabbits and foxes, 
Over and over again.



There are 9 billion of us now, 
destroying our range, standing in pens full of muck,
Awaiting slaughter like our enslaved insulted animals—
This is NOW oh oil/gas/poison masters—
we have cancer, our guts fail, our children
are born with autism.



There are other paths than the ones we have been pursuing
And we’d better see the green way of it quick.
We can evolve and if we do
We just
Might
Survive what’s coming.
The way the Mammon's followers would have us go—
into the red pulsing throat of the volcano—
Why?



Now we might kill our entire species without too much guilt,
But the idea that we would drag
The Miracle, this one in a million ride
She Upon Whose Skin We Are Privileged to draw breath,
Into our self-made wanton blind abyss …






We all share this planet; 
Air Water Earth.





It is nothing less than Sin to
Curse this holy ground, 
The Mother who nursed us,
One in a million Gaia.
She will succor--or consume--
our grandchildren.





 ~~Juliet Waldron





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