The Earth as a Woman Passively Smoking

“where were you
when the seas
were warming?”

– 'Sixteen Haiku' by Daniel Clark

My brother says passive smoking is worse—

             worse than actual

smoking— you’re taking up / taking in

everything

out of gratitude or, perhaps, for the sake

             of company—

and your lungs / heart—full of tar—

             are constantly on fire.

A friend, waving rings of air / of smoke

             says what difference does quitting make

anyway—

isn’t death the only constant?

Isn’t death the only constant?

             He says it in a way that says he

has mastered the art of not having

regrets / of not giving in

             to grief. He says it

without getting excited for the weekend

—which is four days later—and, here, you

             are worried about tomorrow.

             You’re worried about tomorrow

and tomorrow and tomorrow—

you want your veins / rivers

             detoxified, which says

you’re acknowledging your mistakes

             and of those you lent things to.

Still, you accept the mistakes as yours / like

saying what difference does quitting make

             anyway?

You want your rivers detoxified—

the synapses / the bridges

need rebuilding—

             you keep looking for somewhere

             to place an order / keep looking

for the beavers—

but they’ve finally made it to

             the threatened / protected list—

             they’ve now mastered the art of hiding.

And you

are unlearning words like blue

—not sad—blue /

             like aquamarine / words

like birds / like snow / like warmth.

You’re relearning words

             like warming / like eutrophication /

             like warming / warming / warming.

You want your rivers detoxified

while they have blood / water—

             while they’re there.