The first lab I ever worked in 

Was my backyard. 

I was a self-proclaimed botanist
Taught by the wildflowers in the woods,
And a soil stained flower encyclopedia.
 
I researched the yellow flowers bursting
Along the wood’s edge
And noticed 
The book’s map of North America said 
Their range didn’t extend up to Vermont. 

So why are they here?
I pondered. 
Isn’t it too cold?

At the age of 7, my environmental knowledge
Was built of observation, not explanation
I could see climate change sprouting
Before I learned the word.

Ten years later I can tell you that the earth is warming. 
I understand the news stories of greenhouse gases, 
solar radiation, 
species migration.

But despite the flaming headlines
I know more about slope and Shakespearean Sonnets
Than about the very earth I live on. 

Blue-grey is the color of the ocean on a stormy day
A day when you can smell the battle of the wind and the water 
Blue-grey is the color of a sad woman's eyes, 
Eyes that haunt your memory for years because you did nothing to help her
Blue-grey is the color of my worn denim jeans 
The ones with the paint splatters and tears in the knees 
Blue-grey is the color of things that used to be wonderful 
That have now faded from use 
Blue-grey is feeling sad on a day when everyone says you should be happy 
It's that last week of winter where the snow is all melted and the air is heavy with hesitation 
Blue-grey is the feeling of finally finding what you need
After months of searching for what you had wanted 

 

I used to hate silence
the unending weight
spiraling into the abyss
with no aim
no goal
and nothing to be gained.
For years I filled my life with sound
music and meaningless conversations,
all to fill the hole
and yet I felt empty,
knew that my existence was silent.
 I continued on with the same uncaring voices to give me...
something to feel less alone.
But like all false things, those voices
eventually slithered away in the night and
 I feared I was destined to
live
in the emptiness.

When I met you,
I thought it would be the same
that I had to fill the empty air
for you to care.
But one day we fell into silence,
conversation a burden to our tired minds,
so we simply lounged together.
Yet I didn't feel you slipping away into the chasm,
I didn't feel that I had to say
one breath-filled 
word.
For once, the silence was good

Here is what I know:
When I feel something personal and meaningful,
my belly bubbles up inside
My mind begins to expand
and explore,
pondering future possibilities.
I become ensure of what to do with the swirling
and my flushed cheeks––
all my past knowings are turned to
grains of salt
and I begin to consider all of the other perspectives.

That is how I want to feel every day.

I want my perceived ideas to be challenged
and my ideals to be questioned.
I want to wonder why I think what I think
and why you think what you think.

I should be curious about all things:
How the happenings in my small community reflect those of a larger state.
Why certain pigments look so incredibly pleasing together.
Why the vision of the earth which nurtures all life is so surreal.
Why I have been conditioned to view unnatural even harmful things as beautiful.