A D V E R T I S E M E N T
A poem, by E.M.Billington, about the contradictory love of unseasonably warm days and the knowledge that these beautiful days are a result of the planet being destroyed

What I propose, therefore, is simple: it is
nothing more than to think what we are doing.
—Hannah Arendt

 

We spend much of the day in the sun

in our short sleeves, in our

sunscreen, in our sweat. It is the middle

of midwestern January, and it is perfect

hiking weather. As we trek on gravel-slush

near a gray lake, we try not to think of our mother

earth as a dying body. But it’s hard

not to, when we know it should

be snowing right now and instead

we bask in warmth and light.

So we speak of death, share a beer and watch

the sun set. By the time we drive home,

windows open wide and the breeze rushing

through our hair, the sky has settled into

night, spanning orange and purple,

no longer a visible star in sight.

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