Unrecorded Extinction - Cop26 Ii

She’s not as dramatic as a hurricane or forest fire Just someone’s old mother Arranging her daily dignity In an unrefrigerated apartment She’s got a cushion chair An oxygen tank A bed Her toilet Weather Channel on the TV She’s survived past her friends The world’s last Sparrow chipping at a bird feeder Night muffled of its insect thrumming Mountain creeks hollow of Salmon speckle She’s like them A white flag draped over her rocking chair 108 degrees yesterday 112 today Tomorrow? Ceiling fan useless against the boil on her stove Whistling to the empty room She’s gone to sleep Steaming Lid rattling We will all sleep eternal sleep very soon Her only son breaks down the door at high noon Cries alone At her feet Swallows the embers of her toes Crumbles to dust Himself In the whirling arms of the unrecorded extinction.