Mother

Etched into her side
like a flesh-eating tattoo, we settle,
clawing out our own niche.
We marvel at her beauty,
but we do not respect
her final wishes.

To be observed
but not harmed.
To be enjoyed
but not taken advantage of.
To be used
but not destroyed.
To be seen
but not touched.

She sits, distraught,
weeping at the loss
of her sons and daughters,
her fallen trees,
her corrupted waters.
She cries out, begging
to be left alone.