Hurricanes and earthquakes and floods and the ongoing human cruelty inflicted by our elected employees against their fellow human beings. Jeez. It’s enough to make me understand (a tiny bit, anyway) why religious people start tossing around terms like “the end times.” Screw that, though. Enough good people determined to make the world better will do just that. Let us be like the whales in this strange and unforgettable poem by Albert Goldbarth, and sing to each other.
Forces, by Albert Goldbarth
It’s different for the spiderweb:
the only architecture
in a five-block radius not
undone by yesterday’s tornado.
Out at the More-4-Less, strands
of uncooked spaghetti were driven,
unbroken, like nails, through concrete.
Different levels: different forces.
I remember when Anna told me
about the deep-sea dive that almost
killed her, hammered and disoriented
and tossed like debris in the middle
of two converging vectors of power.
That’s what she said. The whales
only knew they were singing
to each other.