Ice Would Suffice
By Risa Denenberg
How swift, how far
the sea
carries a body from shore.
Empires fail, species are lost,
spotted frogs
and tufted puffins forsaken.
After eons of fauna and flora, hominids have stood
for mere years
baffled brains atop battered shoulders.
In a murky blanket of heavens
an icy planet
made of diamond spins.
Our sun winks like the star
it was
billions of years ago, without ambition.
We bury bodies in shallow dirt, heedless of lacking space
or how long
our makeshift planet will host us.
Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 10, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.
Risa Denenberg lives in Sequim, Washington where she works as a nurse practitioner and volunteers with End-of-Life Washington. She is a co-founder of Headmistress Press, publisher of Lesbian/Bi/Trans poetry. She has published three full length poetry collections: “Mean Distance from the Sun” (Aldrich Press, 2013), “Whirlwind @ Lesbos” (Headmistress Press, 2016) and “slight faith” (MoonPath Press, 2018). She blogs at: https://risadenenberg.com/
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