Plastic is an object advertised as one-time-use, but it never actually goes away. It’s permanent, and in working with it over the years I’ve come to feel its sacredness—this incredible creation that we’ve made that can take on many different forms and functions, and at the same time it may overtake, consume, and destroy the earth. What does it mean to be so reliant on an object that can be so harmful? What new creations can we make with the plastic we already have? What would it look like to treat plastic objects with reverence, like the relics they are and will become?
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Mornings made me hopeful
as if we foraged in this spring.
That’s the word that stings though--
thinking something new could grow.
I saw you bright, and before me
buzzed under my breath, hot and electric.
reduce, reduce--
Gatherer, Evolver. Perpetuate.
These hazards became hardwired, didn’t they?
can you stop it ? will you synthesize ?
We trek on, resilient
in collaboration with their crushing bones.
(And that word comes to me again.)
It comes and do I dare look?
In reverence to what choked us out?
It separated us.
Will we bind or burst under these rising -- aching -- sines?
