I wasn’t going to post this poem I wrote yesterday in response to This Photo Wants to be a Poem, but Margaret posted her poem “Road Construction,” so here I am in solidarity.
I am conflicted by what it means to be human. Some days more than others, but this month is one of those days. And wouldn’t you know it, my poem of the day today from Jane Hirshfield is “Let Them Not Say,” which just serves to reinforce these feelings. I am also listening the The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green which probably fuels this conflict as well. Not probably, certainly.
We have done so much harm, and yet we do so much good.
We kill and kill and kill, and yet there are five no longer invisibly small black swallowtail caterpillars sprinkling frass on our kitchen table from atop the fennel in the drinking glass.
We break so much, and yet we can dedicate ourselves to repair, and gather around picnic tables in a community garden to form a mending circle so we can repair beloved articles of clothing and dream other forms of repair into being.
I am an animal, an omnivore, and therefore other plants and animals have died so that I can live.
I know that our oak and our neighbors’ oaks send way more acorns out into the world than could ever possibly survive (even if this were a forest and not a neighborhood). I do not mourn all the possible oak trees that were eaten by squirrels and deer or that fell on pavement and rolled away down the street. But I do mourn the ones whose brief lives I ended with my weeding fork.
What to do about this existential conundrum? I guess the only thing to do is to go on. And to do the best we can in spite of what we, as an individual and as a species, are and have been. Do the best we can do. Which Kate DiCamillo would say is to have a “capacious heart.”
Michelle has a capaciously generous Poetry Friday roundup post that is bound to fill you with way more hope and joy than mine!
(the photo is via Wikimedia)
A(nother) Year of Reading 
Mary Lee, indeed a conundrum. We not only kill, but we destroy and pollute and steal and hate. We also grow and give and love. What a paradox the human condition is. I wonder if other creatures feel a similar sense of internal conflict, or if that is uniquely human phenomenon. : /
LikeLike
Thanks for your deeply felt and thought provoking post. Agree with all. Seems like what’s at the heart of internal conflict is the human conscience — it works both ways, telling us what is wrong to keep us on the straight and narrow, yet making us feel guilty even when we do what we must or what is right.
LikeLike
This post says so much about your heart, Mary Lee. And your poem makes the reader pause to think–no longer without much thought. (I, on the other hand, have been on a spongy moth killing spree–those caterpillars are all over our house and on every tree, turning oak leaves into a green salad that covers my deck. Squish, squish, squish…of course they are only here because we humans are a careless bunch.)
LikeLike
This post says so much about your heart, Mary Lee. And your poem makes the reader pause to think–no longer without much thought. (I, on the other hand, have been on a spongy moth killing spree–those caterpillars are all over our house and on every tree, turning oak leaves into a green salad that covers my deck. Squish, squish, squish…of course they are only here because we humans are a careless bunch.)
LikeLike
Mary Lee, I love that you posted your poem here. It is so thoughtful and inspires our thinking too. Thanks, as usual, for the helpful links. I love “capricious heart” — Thanks for sharing that. It is giving me something to think about today…
LikeLike
Your post is so heartfelt, Mary Lee. I remember a few summers ago when I spotted the most beautiful black and white creature in the garden, only to discover that it was the larva of the dreaded spotted lantern fly. We had to destroy it (and others) in order to save our trees. And therein lies the conundrum.
LikeLike
It is this constant push and pull of survival. I am ever so grateful for Jeff’s survival. If I think too hard about it, I will melt into a deep despair that does no one any good. One year I had a bunch of oak seedlings. I brought them to school and placed them into a plot of dirt. They died over the summer with no one to water them. I also, like you, have rescued black swallowtails these last few weeks. We released 5 of the 6 we rescued and I took home 2 more. I don’t think we can ever do enough, but the trying helps me live each new day. Hugs, my friend, in solidarity!
LikeLike
I wanted to do a whole anthology about joy and sorrow living side by side! Maybe I still will. Thanks for the thoughtful post. (My parents have been pulling up black walnut trees, but they are overwhelmed. Oh those squirrels!)
LikeLiked by 1 person
On the contrary, Mary Lee, I read much hope in your post. You acknowledge our humanness, and in doing so, admit that we do harm and we do great good. May the good grow and may we forgiven for the harm, so that we do less and less of it.
LikeLike
What a gorgeous post. I feel each word deeply and have so many of the same thoughts and struggles. Thank you so much for putting them into your thoughtful, wise words. I think a pantoum is a perfect form for this topic and the condition of conundrum. I had a hekka week…so I’m still catching up on ‘This Photo’ from Margaret’s blog. I do love how poets have conversations with each other. I think this particular photo and this specific conversation has legs for a place in the larger conversation going on in our world. Thank you so much for your thoughts in this way.
LikeLike
I connect with Tabatha’s comment about “joy and sorrow” and their tight bond. The state of the human condition, ah so much pain today–often in our own neighborhoods, yet somehow so many want to fight on the side of carrying on. Thanks for your deeply caring post and poem Mary Lee.
LikeLike
Let Them Not Say, is one of those poems you really cannot read without it just reverberating into your marrow. When has what we’ve ever done been enough? And yet, this is why we are human animals with consciences, and consciousness, in order to grapple with the larger questions of doing our best and doing wrong, or right, of … doing. This isn’t a hopeless post or idea. Rather, it’s kind of the point where the spark and flint of a conscious, examined life ignites.
Animals are okay with solely being. Maybe one reason we have the broader consciousness is in order to celebrate the freedom to consider these things. I’ll bet the trees that remain in your yard will be the better for your stewardship, but balance is always made up of what is gain and loss. A conundrum indeed… What makes us human.
LikeLike
Each year when I taught, I worked with studetns to understand ‘systems thinking’. We would each take apart one thing to see how it impacted the earth, ourselves, other communities and/or entities. It’s an awakening for them to begin understanding the links and impacts. I so enjoyed your words, Mary Lee, showing the connections that not everyone sees, or sadly, cares about. “We kill and kill without much thought.” but to our credit, stuck in the dilemma we’ve ended up with, we are trying to change.
LikeLike
Mary Lee, you have powerful thoughts today, such as, “Do the best we can do. Which Kate DiCamillo would say is to have a “capacious heart.” I shall take your lead. Thank you. Enjoy the Memorial Day weekend.
LikeLike
We–and life–are such a paradox. Life, death, killing, saving, all joining hands together in a dance of chaos and calm. I think retaining the ability to FEEL something about the killing and the saving that we do is a key component of living. Thanks for this, Mary Lee ❤
LikeLike
From a photo of an oak seedling to a mighty post, Mary Lee. Contemplating humanity is overwhelming, but at the end of the day I hold onto the philosophy of “Do the best we can do.” For me, that means striving to put silliness and smiles into the world even when I am struggling to make sense of so much. Your posts always make me think and feel. Thank you for that. ❤️
LikeLike
Such a thoughtful post & poem, Mary Lee. As a vegan (for a few years) after going vegetarian 36 years ago, I think about and wrestle with these questions a lot. Today in a PetSmart, in the Ladies Room in the very back of the store, I discovered I’d inadvertently carried in some kind of winged critter on my clothing. I wasn’t sure if it had a stinger. I pondered whether to end its little insect life so it wouldn’t bother the next person who came in – what if they were allergic? – but it made its way to the periphery, and I didn’t have it in me to kill it. I’m glad we pause to think and wonder and debate, though. Mother Nature is always recycling herself from one form into another. And yet we humans have such power, and have abused it horribly, oftentimes.
LikeLike
Yes, we’re all part of this cycle that you’ve written about so beautifully. The best we can do is go through life aware of what we are a part of and try to be respectful and gentle. “We kill and we kill without much thought” is a powerful line.
LikeLike