It’s Not Her; It’s You
By Preston Brindle
she loved you when you knew nothing; she loved you when you questioned everything
she loved you when injustice stole forth your angry tears; she loved you when you did those same things you promised never
she loved you when you revered her the center; she loved you when you took to another with eyes once reserved
she loved you when your smoke stained the air; she loved you when you tried so hard to quit
she loved you when you insisted upon her curves; she loved you when you shamed her flat
she loved you when you swore to change; she loved you when you refused to grow
she loved you when you dreamed to fare the seas; she loved you when you woke to surf the stars
she loved you when you drained her; she loved you when you gave her everything
she loved you when you feared the dark; she loved you when you conquered the light
she loved you when your ambition poisoned her; she loved you when your ideas illuminated her
she loved you when you wrote sonnets of hope; she loved you when you penned books of hate
she loved you when you said you knew she didn’t; she loved you when it was the only thing you knew certain
she loved you when you punched metal fangs upon her skin; she loved you when you painted seasons in her honor
she loved you when you screamed; she loved you when you whispered
she loved you when you killed; she loved you when you bore
she loved you when you hurt her; she loved you when you hurt yourself
she loved you because she knew you needed it
she loved you, but she couldn’t idle as you destroyed her.
so the fever through her grew; and the fires blazed
and the lightning struck and the tempest whirled
not because she hated you, but because she loved you
and she couldn’t watch as you killed yourself
not slowly; not quickly.
so she gave you this last mercy. she would again bear the burden and
assign herself the guilt
she would give you something to hate because, for some reason
you always needed it.
she would hold your mistakes, and let you name destruction her decision because,
she knew how weak you were.
so with swelling tears and sobs that shook throughout her body
she loved you as she said goodbye.
and through the night of now, she dreamt of then
she had seen the cosmos; she had known other loves.
some gave; some took.
some evolved; some regressed.
some foreign; some familiar.
but, oh.
none quite like you.
how quickly your growing mind had shown her every desire
how earnestly you had sought her every secret
how excitedly you had explored her every inch
how tenderly you had mapped her every move
how fearfully you had learned her every emotion
how closely you had held her; how honestly you had needed her.
how fervently you had worshipped her; how uniquely you had loved her
and how deeply you have hurt her.
your negligence scarred across her skin; your ignorance choked between her lungs; your selfishness buried in
her veins.
she loves you still; but do not delude yourself,
she never relied on you as you do her.
if you find another soil, let yourself take root.
Grow.
in the arid dust she saved you from.
Grow.
beneath the violent sun she shielded you from
Grow.
among the noxious gases she hid you from
Grow.
Grow,
but do not again seek refuge.
you could not abide the problems she solved for you; the bounty she gave to you.
you could not abide the care she laid upon you; the love she handed you.
so do not ask her to save you again.
she’s done all that she can.
its not her; it’s you.
Environmental ethics interests me. Viewing our home, our planet, as a never-ending fountain of progress and profit kills any chance we have at true longevity. Bodies treat viruses with fever. To heal the natural world, and in turn heal ourselves, “we need to change our thinking about the agency and value of nonhuman elements”. It seems both logical and necessary to consider, at a minimum, our relationship with ‘Nature’, ‘Earth’ or ‘Her’ in the same way we do ones with each other. The universe’s lone cradle of life deserves that much, at least.
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