I. Truth be told

I address you now, my child, though I know you are deaf to my words.
Your brothers have spoken,
and I must now interfere, for I know
your brothers do not speak lightly.
Tell me now, for how many years
have your blood brothers suffered
in noble silence,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
for you, my last-born child, to ripen?

I, Mother Earth, brought you upon this world
in an epiphany, a stroke of genius that
in hindsight
was a moment of weakness.

In the beginning, all was pristine.
There was Water,
there was Land,
there was Sky,
but there was no life.
Life first blossomed when I,
Mother Earth, in all my splendor,
gathered a handful of clay,
molded it in my palm,
blew a single divine breath,
and named the result “Man.”

I loved you, from the moment of your birth,
as did your brothers,
the Water, the Land, the Sky.
They bestowed gifts upon you,
trees, stones, rain,
so your childhood might be easier.
The least you could do to repay your brothers
is care for them.

Instead your brother the Water is a dumping ground for
the excess you wish would simply vanish,
your brother the Land is a wasteland from which
your stolen riches originate,
your brother the Sky is a net for
all the poisons created by your neglect.
Please, my good child, remind me:
when was the last time you hesitated
before toppling an oak,
mining a diamond,
drilling a well?

II. I wonder

I ask you now, my child, though I know you yield no answers.
At times I wonder,
is it something I have done that has led
you to disgrace me? I know not explicitly
what your innermost dreams are,
but is it not enough to know that I wish to see them
come to fruition?

Did I not say this:
“You are a talented child, and I trust you will succeed.
Therefore I entitle you to your privacy and
I veil your secrets. I know not the contents,
but I build a treasure chest for you regardless.”

How was I
to guess that inside such a precious cavity,
you would hide
venom?

Perhaps I do not provide for you as much
as you would like. Did I not
bathe you in the Nile, where waters run clean and fast? Did I not
feed you the cream of the crop when food was scarce? Did I not
embrace you with loving arms when you most needed shelter? Did I not
offer flint to feed your flame in the harshest depths of winter?
And when you pleaded for liberty, for adventure,
did I or did I not
kiss you farewell, blow a gentle wind of good fortune, and allow you
to leave freely, asking only
that you return for supper?

III. I must admit

I applaud you now, my child, though I know my pride to you is nothing.
You have survived, grown, matured,
generation after generation,
and that is all a mother can hope for.
How can I complain that you
are deceived by your own false sophistication
when once you ran on all fours?

You have nearly annihilated yourself
time and time again, but in doing so
have only strengthened your grip on this world,
have only conquered the evils within you:
all but one.

My child, you are selfish.
You have forgotten to care for your brothers,
the Water, the Land, the Sky,
and have instead taken advantage of
their compassion
for your own progress.

Yet how can I blame you for
selfishness, your single flaw,
when once you released all
the evils within Pandora’s Box?
How can I lose the one thing
you managed to salvage:
Hope?

IV. Farewell, my love

I warn you now, my child, though I know you are blind to my actions.
Blind, until the very last moment,
the very last fraction of a second,
when it is too late to save yourself,
for you, my child, are not daft.

Your brothers,
who for so long have comprised
this world which you twisted and corrupted,
are on their deathbeds,
and they unanimously agree.
They know now that
you cannot help but ruin
all that is beauty and peace,
but because they love you,
their deliberation was not swift.
I hope you are grateful for the extra time.

They have given me the honor and the burden
of obliterating you from this world.
True, it was not easy to find a way
to ensure your departure.
You cling to the world of your brothers
with the force of steel. I thought,
“How do I eradicate
that which has become a part of the whole?”
And there it was.
Do you see my brilliant plan? Surely, you must.

But I have been mistaken already
about the extent of your ability.
Who is to say that I am right this time?

I tell you, then, my child,
no tricks, no riddles:
I shall make sure you have nothing
in this world to cling to,
so when the time comes, you will crumble.
In mercy I have tucked your brothers into bed.
You remain alert and feeling.

I gaze at the land; the flowers wither.
The grass shrinks into the soil; it grays with despair.
What will you eat now, child?
I stand in the water; the river thrashes violently.
The coral pales in respect, as you never did.
Where will you bathe now, child?
I blot out the sky with a fist, leaving only the sun
to rage at you with an intensity you have never endured before.
How will you stand this heat, child?
Do not fear. It will end soon.

I will weep for you,
As David wept for Absalom.
I will mourn you,
As Demeter mourned Persephone,
I will forever grieve for you,
as a parent grieves for a child who has wandered astray.
May my tears burn the world,
may it writhe in flame,
may it sear with agony.
When you struggle to repel the pain
and are on the verge of success,
may the world have the grace to vanish,
and bring every last trace of you with it.
May your remains never be found in the ashes.

What I have birthed, I have killed.
Dear child, do not feel alone.
You are not the first that I have created,
nor the first that I have destroyed, but surely
you will be the last.
Now I see how foolish I was
to think I could create a world that is
good!

At last I may drown peacefully in my tears,
knowing that what finished you, my beloved children,
is what also finishes me.