missing earth

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What Will You Miss About the Earth?
Megan Fernandes
That it spun.
That everything was a portrait of gravity.

The smell of a new body, newly close,
ready to love.

 

domestic

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Domestic
Deborah Landau

At night, down the hall into the bedroom we go.
In the morning we enter the kitchen.
Places, please. On like this,

without alarm. I am the talker and taker
he is the giver and the bedroom man.
We are out of order but not broken.

He says, let’s make this one short.
She says, what do you mean?
We set out and got nearer.

Along the way some loved ones died.
Whole summers ruined that way.
Take me to the door, take me in your arms.

Mother’s been dead a decade
but her voice comes back to me now and often.
Life accumulates, a series of commas,

first this, then that, then him, then here.
A clump of matter (paragraph)
and here we are: minutes, years.

Wait, I am trying to establish
something with these people.
Him, her, him. We make a little pantomime.

Family, I say, wake up. The sentences
one then another one, in a line. And then
we go on like that, for a long time.

Lunchtable TV Talk: Tiger King + The Family + Ozark

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I’m a long way behind the curve in saying anything about the improbable Tiger King phenomenon, and there isn’t much to say about it except… well, there are idiots everywhere — some of them manipulative, some of them manipulated — and all of them thoughtless and selfish. I can’t stand watching or thinking about animals being mistreated, and under no circumstances could one claim that animals weren’t mistreated at the facility where Joe Exotic bred these creatures. No point describing this further except to say that this reflects the worst of society, its selfish streaks and disregard for life and nature.

I am nevertheless (briefly) bringing it up now largely because of the strange way that totally different programs end up having a surprising thematic overlap. What, then, does Tiger King have to do with the documentary, The Family, and by extension, Ozark? On the surface, absolutely nothing. But if you watch them one after the other in short succession, you will find a theme of destruction of one type or another, brought about by the selfishness, self-preservation, ugliness of what people can do and become.

The Family focuses on a conservative, right-wing, religious organization/cult that influences American politics heavily. Not a fantastic documentary, but it does chronicle the toxic and insidious influence an ultra-right-wing “religious” group has on American politics, and by extension, American life. I put “religious” into quotation marks because I find these interpretations and manifestations of faith to negate true spiritual or religious belief. Anything that excludes, vilifies and targets people with hatred and discrimination — or official government policy or law codifying hatred or discrimination — is not qualified to be anything but a power-hungry cult in my estimation. The Family illustrates the destructive nature of hypocrisy – how it can profoundly benefit small groups (particularly white men) and have a deeply destructive, corrosive effect on everyone else. And even those privileged by this system can be burned by it if they fail to follow its rules or if the “movement” demands a scapegoat.

Meanwhile, in Ozark, the conversion of Marty and Wendy Byrde from fearful accidental money launderers to active crime lords isn’t without its parallels to The Family — power and money corrupt, and the constant threat of violence or the long hand of the law on either end of the spectrum make for similarly destructive potential… the destruction of the family, the destruction of individual moral fiber, the destruction of a sense of right and wrong. Eventually, again, hypocrisy comes into play — as one gains more power and influence, the perception of what’s right and legal seems to shift. One of the early schemes in Ozark is Marty and Wendy’s attempt to bankroll the building of a fundamentalist church – which felt worthy of the snake-oil salesman “religious” orientation of the people in The Family. It felt equally slimy and misleading… sliding rapidly down the slippery slope.

Life is, for some, a performance: a marriage of performative religion and stupidity. A PT Barnum three-ring circus of people buying exotic animals, having no idea how to care for them (this is central to Tiger King but also appears in Ozark, in which Ruth’s two relatives buy two bobcats or something — thinking they are a male and female who will breed, but turn out to be two males), digging deeper holes for themselves, bending or making entirely new rules for themselves. It doesn’t matter how well-intentioned things were in the beginning. There were probably good, if misguided, intentions driving each of these three stories before they went full circus. Fiction or non-fiction, there seems to be no immunity to the most destructive impulses.

Photo by Mark Williams on Unsplash

until i learn

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Until I Learn
Brian Spears
I’ve stopped making to-do lists
because 1) I’m never done
2) I forget to put things on them
and feel silly adding items
to the top just to cross them off
3) There’s rarely anything
not-tedious on the list so reading it
causes me great anxiety and makes
it less likely that I will actually do
what I need to 4) I am like my mother
who often said when asked why she
had us call her by her first name
replied “I have no problem being
a mother; I just prefer not being
reminded of it every moment
of the fucking day” 5) My mother
never said “fucking” 6) At least
as far as I can remember 7) I am
easily distracted back to the list
8) For the reasons I do not make lists
that is 9) I have a dodgy memory
and use that as an excuse for being late
10) When I forget tasks, people tell me
to make a list and I tell them I planned to
but forgot 11) They never think that’s
as funny as I do 12) Lists add order
and I prefer entropy in a system
13) Unless it’s a system I’m trying
to get something I need from
14) Which makes me a hypocrite
I realize but I would like to think
that in an entropic world I would
rebel by making lists for every action
I planned to make revising
them as the need arose with arrows
curving up and down the page
coded in different colored inks
(with indexes block-printed neatly
at the bottom of the page of course)
every step every nervous pacing step
marked out as duly necessary
to perform each in its proper order
15) Yes I suppose this is such a world
but it’s also very organized in many
complex ways and the patterns are
obvious if you only search for them
and I really don’t care to list them
for you at this particular time
16) There is nothing to do which
isn’t the most or least important
thing you could be doing right now

 

water

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Water
Rudy Francisco

When I was six years old,
my brother and my cousins
tried to teach me how to swim.

They did this by throwing me into a pool.
Immediately, my arms became two skinny brown flailing distress signals.

I think I heard my brother say,
“If he dies, I’m going to be in so much trouble.”
I remember them pulling me from the jaws
of the liquid beast before it could devour me whole.
That was the day I almost lost my life.

To anyone brave enough to love me,

Do you know the human body is approximately
sixty percent water? When I walk into a room
full of people, all I see is an ocean.

Photo by Lee Jeffs on Unsplash

all i can do

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All I Can Do
Naomi Shihab Nye

“We have such a beautiful country, but it’s not been utilized before for this kind of tourism…” – George Rishmawi, AramcoWorld

 

One hand out against the earth,
one hand up against the sky.

Somehow I walk between them.
They carry messages through my body,
on a cord stretched between far places.
What could have been, what might be…

Some days it’s all I can do
to stand still and answer you.

unrest

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Unrest in Baton Rouge
Tracy K. Smith
after the photo by Jonathan Bachman

Our bodies run with ink dark blood. Or else
It pools in the pavement’s seams.

Is it strange to say love is a language
Few practice, but all, or near all speak?

Even the men in black armor, the ones
Jangling handcuffs and keys, what else

Are they so buffered against, if not love’s blade
Sizing up the heart’s familiar meat?

We watch and grieve. We sleep, stir, eat.
Love: the heart sliced open, gutted, clean.

Love: naked almost in the everlasting street,
Skirt lifted by a different kind of breeze

Image: Ieshia Evans stands before policemen in riot gear in Baton Rouge, LA July 9, 2016
( Jonathan Bachman for Reuters / Flickr )