Americans have been burying toxic corpses and high-quality materials underground for the last two centuries, but environmental activists seek alternatives practices that lower the body’s carbon footprint in our inevitable demise. We’ve learned much about decomposition since the invention of embalming in the mid-19th century; we know, for example, that embalmed corpses take over 50 years to decompose, and that graveyards are running out of real estate.
We also know that popular news media and cultural norms need to better address changing, innovative burial trends.
How we can make carbon-neutral burial a goal for more American families? What communities choose green burial practices, and how do we plan ahead? …
One past moon split my fingers
Two past moons wrists were brazed
This blood moon knuckles blackened
I promise I don’t crave the pain
What with band-aids, bleeds and blisters rest assured these hands see all
I’m thankful that we share these burdens
Pumpkin sprinkles, pumpkin pasta, Pumpkin spice and pumpkin rum
— It’s a simple conversation: There’s more pumpkin yet to come
Basic lattes, gourds and pates, Pumpkin bisque and pumpkin cream…
I motion Fall 2020 be named Pumpkin Quarantine!
Am I Alpha or Omega, poss’bly something in-between? If you ask me on a Friday I’m the best that’s ever been but if you catch me on a Tuesday I’m a spiteful, crooked being. In my home atop the cock’s feet, filleting hearts and jelly beans — I fill a glass, observe the bubbles… I no longer hear the screams. I swear I’m starting my forever every lilac even-ing but bless this house it aches and shivers, barely holds firm at the seams. Lavender soapy bubbles cast me far away to sleep, woozy Alphas and Omegas sending smoking skyward rings. Every one, the house, in tatters. Heavy metals, stranger things. Suppose nothing really matters when we angles lose our wings.
Studying environmental studies at uni is depressing, to say the least.
Some professors greet students with a twinkle in their eye. Others hand out course materials that spell a completely different story: one where humans continue to dig their own graves.
So, who’s right?
Labeling these professors and other scholars of environmental studies proves difficult. They aren’t quite the fabled liberals your conservative parents warned you about. They recognize that drastic changes in world environmental policy isn't likely to happen in our current political climate. Calling my instructors and peers ‘right-wing’ or ‘left-wing’ completely misses the mark. …
Backbones litter corporate basements, no time better than the present than to shriek and swear and lament, question Washington’s brittle pretense.
Global South in twilight sunset, while the rest of us fear Serpents — East and West, each quaking tyrant — consumptive, fragile, fading, violent.
A bright tomorrow, frabjous advent from many a blood doubloon spent.
Onward toward a greater torment!
Never mind the mounting dissent.
True, I’m just another client doused in glitter, glory, silence. Treat my shower-heads like hydrants in parched California’s climate. Flippant. Phoney. Fooled. Compliant. Wondering where the hell our time went. Flipping switches, raising sirens. My daily bread the work of pirates.
Heed the downtrodden and strident
And the Pale Green Rider’s trident
Gaia’s scythe and nature’s riot.
May terra firma stand firm — Amen.
Never have I ever started everything I’ve done, would you blame my impulsivity, this thing that I’ve become? If I scribe it in third person then its SHE who makes the grade — SHE is whimsical, maniacal, astronomical, and afraid. SHE arises, spreads her breastbone, takes a breath and takes up space. Weighs androgyny and chemistry and anarchy and grace. SHE’S your average complication — following orders, getting paid. SHE revises, apologizes, resolves to keep resolve in place. Wields possibility and tranquility and ability and mace. The only one and one of millions. SHE’S a ragged renegade. But at least SHE’S up to something, and I think SHE’S glad she stayed.
“Ready to hit the town?”
I started university with a small coin purse and little to no living expenses. My food, housing, and education were paid for in part by scholarships and federal grants, so my bank account balance should have been fairly low. Even students expected to go to town now and again.
So why was I running out of money?
I was jealous of my roommate, who I kid you not, came home some weekends with brand-spanking-new Louie Vuitton dress shoes. I was desperate to fit in with my friends, who thought nothing of $40 Lyfts to a weekend destination. …
No sooner had I chosen a bed and wished my darling parents goodbye than it hit me. I was finally, finally alone. A college student. My own person. Ready at last to take on the world. To shed the cumbersome quietness of petty high-school-dom and ready to take the reigns of my life by force. To grow.
Some background: My high school was majority white, minority adventurous. I remember one person getting arrested for painting some pointless rock yellow, and we had a few skirmishes here and there. …