Paulann Petersen

“Late Summer, Last Light” appears in My Kindred, my latest poetry collection. Although this book is dedicated to my husband and two dear poet-friends, it could also be dedicated to Carl Sagan. In the early 1980’s, Sagan’s television series “Cosmos” was a revelation to me. Before watching that series, I’d never completely understood that everything—every thing, all things on and of this earth are made from the stuff of stars. Human, animal, insect, plant, stone, water: we share a common ancestor. I am, we are, kin to every other. Each and every other.

To the maple, I am kin. To the cedar, to the fir, I am kin.

Pine, lily, lilac, coreopsis,

grass, daphne, birch, plum,

you and me, each seed:

we are all made from the re-made debris of stars.

Magnolia, dogwood,

every son and daughter,

the aptly named sunflower:

we are all configured from reconfigured stars.

Otherness? What exactly is that? How can people insist on adhering to the idea of the otherness of the natural world? We must abandon the specious, perilous beliefs that allow mankind to see the natural world as disparate, as a possession ready to be conquered and exploited.

What is the sacrosanct work of poetry if not to transcend such false dichotomy? Poetry’s gift can help place us where we belong: in the oneness of all earthly things.