Two Meditations on the Ecology

By | 1 February 2020

1. Siple Dome

After three years of drilling, we reached

bedrock, two-thirds of a mile under

the humpbacked bulge of winter.

Each season, six fresh inches of ice



put us closer to Jesus on one side,
machinery to whatever else on the other.
Sometimes the scientists gave us trash
chips to splash in our gin & tonics

—

you could hear bubbles of air & ash,
dust that’s fifty thousand years old crack

& pop. There’s so much pressure at bottom,

it squeezes a whole century into an inch-



thick wafer of time. Neanderthals roamed
Europe. Homo sapiens still hadn’t left
African plains when that sliver of core

was last exposed to the pale, thin light.



Now pieces break off the Antarctic cap

at rapid rates & float out to sea. Coastal

cities could be swamped in just a few

centuries. Sure I was drunk, but one



afternoon after work had stopped, wind

sliced through the rigging, & I’d swear

I heard singing. It was the last day

before the end of what passes for summer.



We’d soon leave for home. I spit a nickel

I’d kept warm in my mouth down the shaft

& wished. With every hole that’s opened,
we fill, or hope something will come out of it.


2. The Whale Gospel

Whales have run aground off Cape Cod again.
What if God created them for us as metaphor?

How like us they are, beached and prostrate,
sand shifting under them with every wave

from heaven. Bloated and murder to move,
they slowly rot in the blurry sunshine, victims

of distress we can’t fathom. All we can think
to say is beware the giant squid, the seaquake,

beware sickness in your leaders. Beware the dark-
eyed shark, sonar’s ping and Japan’s traditional hunger.

The rusty bows of ghost ships
                                                are singing through the water.

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