The world is bleeding. Bleeding through my veins. Everything is dying. Our trees are fading, our ocean is drying up my tears and the last wind is captured in my lungs.
I hear broad shoulders, wide enough to shoulder all the world's nonsense. Protecting your heart as you shelter us. But I see the hurt in your eyes too. And I notice how you drift with the river. I feel for and with you, father.
But the children are continuously screaming. Loud whispers in my ear “help us, help us now”, “speak for us, because no one seems to be hearing”. And I do what I know, but my voice can only go a pitch higher. My body is only a small vehicle for their words. So please father, use your deep voice that doesn’t register as mumbles. Your tone that grownups seem to respect. And please, please don’t add to the statistics. Don’t get stuck in your logic and numbers. Please use your masculinity and be the voice, the action, the love. Be the parent we need while our mother is busy fighting to stay afloat.
And, I know that you don’t know how to be nurtured because you don’t know how to nurture. I know that no one taught you, so you can’t teach. But it’s not too late, it’s not enough, it’s your problem too. Because our children are dying. And you helped create us.
