as if the Future has no flight, and
that we must crawl across the Earth
keeping our heads bowed from the Heavens.
But I know few birds who forgot their wings,
except perhaps the Dodo or the Penguin.
So I stumble in front of the impossible Horizon.
The Ice caps are thawing, they say,
and as those shelves of Ancient frozen Sky collapse and melt into their origins,
I also feel that falling.
It is said that Cities are like planes,
and as Buildings reach towards the Sky,
I remember those Ancient dwellings at our origin,
those made of Mud and Stone.
I mean, I never knew a flower that grew upside-down,
except for that one, maybe,
flowering in my Dreams.
So I dig to find my Grace again,
my fingernails scraping bare Earth.
And as the extinctions mount,
DNA erased and forgotten,
I dig to remember myself.
It’s somewhere between the rows of Corn and Squash, it’s said,
a Bean that reaches up towards the Sky,
winding itself perpetually against the stalk.
I walk these mounds like burial grounds,
Dancing, as I search, for a Vision.
Am I a Dodo or a Penguin?
Am I among the Dinosaurs or the Tree-ferns?
Am I among the Stars,
or is my body counted as Dust?
Just a wind that scatters the Bones of my ancestors.
I take a deep Breath,
because it is said that winds of Change are blowing,
and that the Metal and Wheels will grind to a halt, even though the signs
perpetually spin out in the Universe.
Because above my bended back,
hands deep into Dust and Soil,
there is an expansive mass of Black,
a Mystery with no edge or end.
And I hear the Sages whisper:
“in the Waterbearer you must trust”.
So I fall like water to these Seeds
in the downward nausea of pouring, Gravity pulling me to my knees
But still I can not help but to imagine
the Stars.
-Cassandra Caroline
& ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATION BY STEPHANIE DEANGELIS
