WORK TO DO

CATHY WITTMEYER

 

I like to think               you were swimming
in pure             amniotic fluid
(save the champagne that first night)
Your growing space                 I kept pristine:
no alcohol,        no caffeine,         no smoke.
 
I like to think               of you swimming
on our first escape to the sea   – the Priel –
Toddled footprints in foamy early sand.
In the shallows, I blew in your face,
you submerged     and you swam.
 
I like to think              I leave you swimming
in the purest atoms    of         H     and    O
breathing air               that is trusted breath
absent              soot   and    acidic mist.
Instead,            I leave you the cleansing.
 
I hate to think              of leaving you
beaches           awash in waste
trash     that we never bought        or tossed.
I leave you honeybees choking on chemicals
coating vegetables   we rather grew ourselves.
 
I dread to think        that I am leaving you
roads               of bubbling asphalt and
the bicycle I traversed them on.   My shoes.
I leave you flames performing seed serotiny
destroying homes      they fled for the city.
 
I leave you Child,         with work to do.
 
 

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