i open the news each day
like the idiot crew member in a sci-fi Hollywood space movie
who unlocks the hatch before the cabin has been
depressurized and is sucked out into deep space
ashamed, drifting,

the light, blindingly bright
blindingly bright
like exiting a matinee into mid-afternoon sun bright
when at once your eyes close, your head turns away
and your hands raise themselves to shield your eyes
vulnerable, as you wait for your dilated pupils to constrict

before Jim Hansen, Al Gore, Bill McKibben
or carbon parts per million
back when the nuclear holocaust was still the rage
just decades
after the actual holocaust
blinded the world
blinded the world

we never forget
until we can
until we do
until we forgot
if we acted
or didn’t

or aren’t

as if it wasn’t happening
as if it hadn’t happened
as if it hadn’t come.

© r.s.greene
February 8, 2023

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2 responses to “Epitaph”

  1. Jack Greene

    an epitaph of
    of wine

    blood body—


    thine as yours
    as thine as mine

    the blood of Earth
    but we

    were blind

  2. jd

    an epitaph that echoes the one Melville wrote for Moby Dick—

    and who would be left
    to read it


    the point

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