TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown. 

I have zero chill when it comes to the natural world. My son and daughter would probably tell you I’m like a little kid: I gasp audibly at the clouds, the moon, the light coming through the leaves of trees. I shout “hawk!” when I see one on a walk or in the car. I take videos of hummingbirds in my neighbor’s mimosa tree and text them to people I care about. I call the albino squirrels in my neighborhood by name: Sugar (rest in peace), Flour, and Cloud. I’m delighted by what I see and hear and experience, and I don’t try to hide or downplay that delight. Why play it cool?

If you follow me on social media, it won’t surprise you to know that I probably have more photos on my phone of clouds than of the people in my life. I always book window seats on planes for this reason—to marvel at the view. Why would I give that up for the convenience of the aisle? You might know that I’m a card carrying member of the Cloud Appreciation Society. 

In my mind, I’m also an unofficial member of the Hawk Appreciation Society, the Moon Appreciation Society, the Light-Through-The-Leaves Appreciation Society. I can imagine my wallet being overstuffed with these cards—cards I’d never need to flash for entry or acceptance, though, because all we have to do is look up or down or around to marvel at these parts of the world we live in.  

The speaker of today’s poem would be a member of these appreciation societies, too. But the love affair she has with the natural world is bittersweet. This speaker knows this affair can’t last, but still—she is deeply in love, and in awe.

Earth, Sometimes I Try To Play It Casual,
by Catherine Pierce

like Hey mercury, hey malachite, I’m busy today, 
can’t stop to marvel, but always my blood is saying 
O god you starsprung miracle. It’s self-preservation,

letting myself believe laundry matters,
letting myself believe there’s anything other than
egrets and oceans and vast moss carpets and 

the finite heart of every single person I love.
Earth, you terrify me–you are fierce green
and honeysuckle, you are herds of wild ponies,

and you are leaving, always. Is it any wonder
some days I look at my laptop instead of out
the window? Every time I glance up

there you are, quaking me with your fern fronds
and silver frost. O you of the rhyolite mountains.
You of the dew-hung web. You are lemon quartz

and quicksand. Muskrats and starfish. How
could I be any way but staggered? O blue spruce,
O white fir, O green forever, you know

my nonchalance is a sham. It’s so hard to admit
our real desires. Earth, what I want is to sit gentle
under your twilight purple, watch your bats

hunt and dive. What I want is to know about 
endings and still love each bat, each shade
of the boundless, darkening sky.

"Earth, Sometimes I Try to Play It Casual," by Catherine Pierce. Used by permission of the poet.