What are you waiting for?​​​​​​​
What da yu know?
What is in your hands?

I am asking for some help here
Don’t you see…
I am crying out for help 

Is this life?
Why I can’t afford it? 
I cannot 
I have nothing left to give
I have nothing to feed my children
I who am black who have many in Africa, Asia, and France
As she who is white bears none

Sinders shave off my sides
As I feel my skin
I am becoming invis..
I have almost … disappeared

And of course, you do not see me for you cannot enter here,
Where the barriers are closed and the exits are controlled 
Though mostly you do not see me 
because you have not time 
…but one day, when they light me up
I will roar through your bones
and you will smell me, hear me. 
see me
As I am 
black as hard as stone
And pick me up
As brittle burnt wood
I am dead 
I died a thousand years ago and a thousand years ago again 

What are you waiting for?
What do you know?
What is in your hands?

I am asking for some help here
Don’t you know…
I am crying out for help here

Is this life?
I can’t afford it, 
I cannot 
I have nothing left to give
I have nothing to feed my children
I who am black have had many in Africa, Asia, and France
As she who is white bears none

Sinders shave off my sides
As I feel my skin
I am becoming invis..
I have almost … disappeared

And of course, you do not see me for you cannot enter here,
Where the barriers and the exits are controlled 
Though mostly you do not see me 
because you have not time 
…but one day, when they light me up
I will roar through your bones
and you will smell me, hear me 
See me
As I am 
black as hard as stone
And pick me up
As brittle burnt wood
I am dead 
I died a thousand years ago and thousand years ago again I die

Writing in response to Big Pats Creek, an area of native logging in The Yarra Valley, Victoria, Australia, May 2020
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