My Love, I Was Here First: Kinship

An Exchange

water by the author

My Love, I Was Here First

after yet another zoom meeting

advocating for Rights of Nature,

i go to the banks of the Swannanoa River.

she’s disappointed in me.

i don’t think she furious

yet still…

i can’t bring myself to tell her  

we had asked our state senator 

to back Rights of Nature; 

the senator demurred.

the committee is in disarray.

i don’t dare tell her that the source

stems from what it always does:

a lack of kinship.

i hear the River say

you are talking about yourselves again. 

of course, she’s right.

the River whispers,

the poet said:

language does not solve everything.

the poet favors silence, 

line breaks,

and blank spaces.

the River speaks louder,

i will tell you this:

i don’t ask you anything.

i don’t ask about your ancestors,

or your belief system,

or who you love.

i don’t ask what your stockholders want, 

though i do act out my discontent 

when you defile me.

i don’t charge admission

before i fill your glass with water.

my love, i was here first,

then the land,

then the skunk cabbage.

you are miles from understanding me.

hear me when i say:

i don’t ask you anything 

before i gift you water.

the headwaters of the Swannanoa River 📷Kevin Doyle Jones