Fly

Photo Credit: Renee Johnston for Public Square Amplified

thirty five thousand feet

above the dying sea,

i slice fluffy white clouds

from the window seat, 25F

the sky, i’m afraid, will never

be this perfect shade of blue again,

not with Forty-five’s dismantling of the EPA

the end begins in as soon ten years

i can see the lakes and rivers from here

i remember their voices

they cried, “welcome” once,

now they cry, “help”

coal muffles the voices of water like

it strangles the breath from mine

worker's lungs, like police strangle

the breath from Black men, 

like the DAPA steals water 

from grandchildren 

my brothers, the birds, are black now

their progress impeded by smut,

their wings weighted down with

troubles, they do not fly

they cannot fly 

we cannot fly