Subtraction and Addition
The most famous ancient baobab in Botswana
fell, its six trunks folding like an umbrella.
All or part of nine of the thirteen oldest baobabs
have hit the dust. And the cedars of Lebanon.
Many redwoods of California.
Does it help to name the going and the gone? I
photograph icebergs as they inch across the bay,
leaving part of themselves behind, to someday
deplete completely. But the beaches of Galapagos are rising:
layers of water bottles, fishing line, a soap dispenser
all stand in as throne for one iguana, and a yellow warbler
weaves drink stirrers into its nest, like a kid's embrace
of the latest trend from TikTok. What to say to this tide
of outgoing, incoming? Calling from the edge
of space's far reaches, Voyager 1 was for a while speaking
gibberish. Here too on the edge of things, language fails,
and what's left is the hush of tide, soft hiss and snick of data.
Marilyn McCabe’s collections of poems include Being Many Seeds, Glass Factory, Perpetual Motion and Rugged Means of Grace. Read more.