Note: Most of my poems are autobiographical non-fiction in first person. Lately though, I've gotten ideas for poems featuring narrators whom aren't myself, more of a sort of Monologues by fictional characters. The following poem is in this almost-theatrical style, and perhaps I'll share more like this in the future. This is still "real life" however, in that the sickness called Valley Fever is a real condition caused by a fungus found in the soil that can turn into a harmful respiratory infection.
Valley Fever
They say the earth is helpful, healthful,
good for your body and soul
but I say that a poison runs in her veins
less obvious and less useful than petroleum.
They say that the ground can grow no harm,
if it’s a plant, it’s probably good,
if it’s from the soil, it probably will do you well…
except tetanus and
except this fever in my lungs
a deadly, silent, fungus of the earth
and those who work her ground are most vulnerable to it,
like a smothering, revolting relative with toxic breath
who pulls you in when she hugs you then
blows a hot wind over your face
stirring up the dirt and you can’t help but breathe it in
only to discover much later that you can’t breathe at all
because her venomous legacy is growing in your lungs...
Some call it Valley Fever
All I know is that Mother Earth is not the benevolent
nurturer
all the ads and bohemians love to tell you
but rather one who builds weapons against us
or at least lets parasites quite insidious
grow beneath her nails
unseen, unchecked
and when you get too close to her
she scratches you
They call the Earth their Mother
but I say let’s call her a Wicked Step-Mother
© Ellen H. 2018
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| © Ellen H. 2015 |
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