I am alive.
You were born on my back.
You eat the fruits of my flesh
you drink the waters of my blood
and one day soon
when your heart grows tired of beating
I will take you into my arms
and in your final slumber
you will learn to be still
and to nourish the soil
that you have forgotten.
You may cover my face
with a stiff concrete veil
or blanket my skin
with an oily layer of blacktop
but even as you scream across my body
in a steel-framed car
I rest in quiet contemplation.
The concrete, the oil, the steel,
they know that I am their Mother
and one day soon
you or your children or your grandchildren
will remember that
I am here.
On that day
your heavy hammers
will kiss the concrete veil
until it crumbles
and once again
a garden will grow
and the city
will fall into my open arms
and be forgotten.