Old News
I walk past the Hardin-Bergia:
it hasn’t got the news.
Sending forth tender purple micro
blossoms crafted
to celebrate the coming spring,
it’s oblivious to
this global meltdown.
The nectarine tree readies
its small bursts of
snowy hope on stems’ ends,
unclear or unconcerned,
that the collapse is coming.
What to make of this ignorant
spring grass engorging the orchard?
Birds who flit from tree to tree
and sing alive
these futile mornings?
Who store their seeds,
depart on their migrations?
Something still is working:
the only true ground, spreading the word:
our next deposit,
our next withdrawal, as near as
our next spent
breath.
- Scott O'Brien
