Earth mother, earth daughter, would that you had been earth father, earth son,
for then, the males of romance would not have praised your nourishment as endless,
for then, the men of reason would not have deduced your body an irrational chaos,
something to be tackled, harnessed, steered, cashed, capitalized.
Having trod your flowers, drugged your fruit, razed your rainforests,
we now bring their aromas into our homes—as therapy.
Having diverted your streams, collapsed your waterfalls, soiled your seas,
we now bring their music into our living rooms—to calm us.