The Vantage Point of Stars

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Abstract

e to leap from the sky or find themselves shoved into spaces too small, too restrictive, to do what it is that stars do; quietly they still and twinkle and hold their spot for eons, asking nothing. Walruses ask nothing but a bit of ice or shore. Koalas, ablaze and climbing trees, shrieking. They, too, only need a bit of peace and branches of green. Sure, brush fires are normal. Ice melting; normal. But not like this. The Earth spinning and changing and moving through time as time has asked it to do — forgive us our interference, our human intrusion on the norm, for we really think it is all about us, our needs, our wants from this earth, our take, our taking.When the seas rise up to meet our mistakes, what cliffs, I ask, will we leap from? Will there be trees for us to climb, as the flaming koalas? Will there be a nice lady who will rip off her shirt and snuff out the flames of our sins as they crawl up our legs or will we simply keep running and hop

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e the wind will put them out? The stars won’t shine then.They’ll wink their “I told you so’s,” grateful to be stars and not koalas, stars and not polar bears adrift on melting ice-boats, their furs narrowing at the sides, carcasses that breathe, until, they don’t.A star paints its path across the sky, one last, vast motion of hope, recipient of wish, of prayer, far-removed hope-flung.<a href="undefined">Christina Ward 💗</a> is a nature poet, a climate poet, a poet who hopes to drive awareness, CAREness, and change through her art. For more environmental poetry you can follow her work <a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/entity/author/B081S8RRTC?_encoding=UTF8&node=283155&offset=0&pageSize=12&searchAlias=stripbooks&sort=author-pages-popularity-rank&page=1&langFilter=default#formatSelectorHeader">here</a> and <a href="https://medium.com/fiddleheads-floss">here</a>.</article></body>

and poem on climate change and the stars

From a safe vantage point, far from the walrus-death cliffs, the stars hang smiling in the sky. The cosmos between themselves and earth is enough to swallow up their years of smiling light. If I could rise to that expanse could I forget the plunging to rock? The blood swept into the sea — the last heaving breaths of walruses?

How lucky the stars for that vast space. They do not have to leap from the sky or find themselves shoved into spaces too small, too restrictive, to do what it is that stars do; quietly they still and twinkle and hold their spot for eons, asking nothing. Walruses ask nothing but a bit of ice or shore. Koalas, ablaze and climbing trees, shrieking. They, too, only need a bit of peace and branches of green. Sure, brush fires are normal. Ice melting; normal. But not like this. The Earth spinning and changing and moving through time as time has asked it to do — forgive us our interference, our human intrusion on the norm, for we really think it is all about us, our needs, our wants from this earth, our take, our taking.

When the seas rise up to meet our mistakes, what cliffs, I ask, will we leap from? Will there be trees for us to climb, as the flaming koalas? Will there be a nice lady who will rip off her shirt and snuff out the flames of our sins as they crawl up our legs or will we simply keep running and hope the wind will put them out? The stars won’t shine then.

They’ll wink their “I told you so’s,” grateful to be stars and not koalas, stars and not polar bears adrift on melting ice-boats, their furs narrowing at the sides, carcasses that breathe, until, they don’t.

A star paints its path across the sky, one last, vast motion of hope, recipient of wish, of prayer, far-removed hope-flung.

Christina Ward 💗 is a nature poet, a climate poet, a poet who hopes to drive awareness, CAREness, and change through her art. For more environmental poetry you can follow her work here and here.