Tuesday poem #672 : Christina Wells : You Are What You Eat

 

If you forestall the effort to stay tidy with your thinking, you might remember how fear does not live on a separate planet from awe. This is the wilderness we stand in.
— Sara Michas-Martin, Orion Magazine

There is no more inside you, or outside,
no separation between pure and toxic hearts,
only the wilderness we live in, wide-eyed

while microplastics crowd in on the tide,
doll arms, tampons, bearings from motor parts
that come to live inside you, and outside,

plastic breast milk, placenta, blood, fisherprice-ified,
plastic tap water, dust, toothpicks from Walmart—
this wilderness we live in, wide-eyed. 

The oceans are full of polyvinyl chloride
technicolour bath toy, wheel of a grocery cart
there is no more inside you, or outside. 

To save the species we created a synthetic landslide—
pool balls in teal, fuchsia combs, our attempt to unhurt
this wilderness we live in, wide-eyed. 

We collect neon sea plastic, stupefied
that daily we consume the amount of a credit card
There is no longer inside and outside,
in this new wild we stand in, wide-eyed.

 

 

 

Christina Wells (she/her) is a multi-genre writer from Northern Arm, Newfoundland/Ktaqmkuk. Her award-winning work, which explores memory and place, has appeared in The New Quarterly, ROOM, Riddle Fence, Horseshoe Magazine, and The Newfoundland Quarterly, with forthcoming work in the next issues of The Fiddlehead and Yolk. She recently completed an MA in Creative Writing at Memorial University and lives in St. John’s with her beautifully chaotic family and her angel dog.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan