Opposable thumbs
He walks alone through the hush of morning,
dew balancing like prayers on blades of grass.
above him, a red kite wheels as geometry drawn
and for a moment,he forgets what we’ve done.
the earth is still kind,still spills blossom from trees
we’ve maimed all that is good with our distain
let rivers write sermons through concrete and spillage.
yet even now,she forgives us, the mother can be kind.
As he stands beneath a birch that grows despite the plastic
coiled at its roots his hand touches the bark there’s warmth.
Its life refusing to retreat from it greatest enemy homoerectus
the weight and menace of opposable thumbs.
Copyright © Kevin Bergin | Year Posted 2025
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