"That I am part of the earth my feet know perfectly, and my blood is part of the sea." D, H Lawrence, Apocalypse
A clean beach, quiet waves, a clear sky,
that's how it used to be, the seas so stable
for a thousand years it seemed, reeds
swaying softly in the breeze. I saw my
granddaughter's first toe-touch to the surf,
delight unfurled in joyous giggles and
a little dance inside the muted breakers.
Now I wake up to a warming world that rolls
so hot, so feverish, there's no known antidote
to calm its fire. Oh, how disquieting, our
climate fast-forwarded beyond the actual years,
with no beach here in Florida that can escape
the ocean's rise, eight inches higher since the fifties.
And imagine now ourselves as sea creatures, feel
the spacious ocean's full reach and its heart beat,
know the rhythmic swish, swish among the plants,
animals, micro-organisms, rocking in the back and forth
of tides. Notice a subtle off-beat, signs and sounds
of eerie dissonance, the algae blooming wildly,
unintended crops that thrive on fertilizer run off.
There are dead zones, too: we are befuddled,
instincts gone awry, strange currents now confusing
natural rhythms, neighbor fishes swim and swim
in circles, round and round until they die.
Nothing's familiar, it's so hot there's more evaporation
from the surface and salinity is lowered.
Those dear sea urchins we see on Facebook
(wearing cowboy hats, sombreros, Mickey Mouse ears
in the laboratory tanks) are facing death
in their own habitat--these spiny little beings
cannot get a grip: righting responses, locomotion,
and adhesion lessened by the heat and lowered saline.
And the blanching coral reefs decline, as well,
the coral's tiny larvae drifting, ciliary hairs
now cannot find familiar strumming fish or crackling
of snapping shrimp, their sound environment
no longer spelling home. As if the waters have turned angry
(and why not: we have destroyed a perfect haven),
just a hundred degrees Fahrenheit from boiling.
