america is my mother,
the mother who raised me on fruit snacks and Bill Cosby
and is now struggling to breathe and carry on living.
she’s being deforested and uprooted,
hunted, and polluted.
i can still hear her sing though–
the song of a morning bird,
the purrrrrrr of a cat at my feet,
the sound of little girls laughing,
the fury of peacemongers,
the moaning of lovers,
the jogging chalk of teachers.
the beat of her poetic heart stirs me,
my mother, my america, and
i love her too much to give up.