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Mother MAG
The dry cracked skin of the
friendly green giant with grand
psoriasis deserts and
freshly aged bug bite mountains,
has been impeded by a
mass of rain dances in her
eyes and excavations of
her deep canyon navel with
shovels built from the wood of
her nails, dear Mother’s maple.
Dreadlocked trees swing to the sound
of sharp cheddar checks cashed fast
from the vellum of her flesh.
They ask for more and more while
she tries to let them dance hard
on the conveyor belts of
her factory, her purse strings
the furnace of her house of
wheat and straw and mountain songs.
Milk and hot honey thrifted
by the bucket, to faceless
patrons with blurred arteries
full of thick nectar, who lie
desperate for mulch of gold,
written about in her leather
and warmed in her convector.
Taking pity on the dim,
she tries to share her seas
and fire. Yet another
zone chaps, and look at us now,
we’ve almost fully dried her.
Now when the last dry sod cracks,
and the Milk Drought clouds us,
we’ll cry in carbon
to dead green drums.
She could have
saved us
all.
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This is a commentary on contemporary ecological attitudes, written from the point of view of a radical environmentalist who resents the people who are not as careful, aware, or adamant about respecting the Earth and helping protect the environment, be it for financial reasons or just general apathy. Each line in the first two stanzas contains seven syllables, one for each day it took for the Earth to have been created, according to the Bible (in the Book of Genesis). This is to show the current manufacturing of the environment, and how the idea of the “Modern Earth” is being created, as shown through seven syllables per line, each representing one day.
The first stanza has nineteen lines, and the second has twelve. There is a seven line difference between them, which again represents the seven days in which the Earth was allegedly created, illustrating that while the Earth can be created in a week, its environmental predicament can also be worsened in such a period.
The last two stanzas have lines that respectively decrease by one syllable as they progress. The first line of the third stanza has seven syllables, the second has six, the third has five, and so on and so forth until the last stanza of the last line which has only one. This is to highlight the continuously degenerating state of the environment, and the hopelessness that many environmentalists have settled with.
This could also be interpreted on a more personal level, about the lack of appreciation some mothers receive when they give their children absolutely everything. In fact, this could be referencing anyone who gives more than they take, and the consequences of such.