What is it for, all this
beauty? The curve
of the spiralfrom the laddered
twist of DNA
to the vast waveof galaxies; the green
luna moth, breath-
taking & ordinary.Does the prey see
beauty in its predator?
Do gazelles admirethe leopard? Does
the seal lift
its sleek headto gaze in wonder
at the bumbling,
lethal polar bear?Our science tells us
how. Our science
gives us reason.But why must it be
beautiful? The aero-
nautic miracleof the bumble bee;
the passing brilliance
of the butterfly. Surelypredators would be
more deterred by
ugliness. The hideousand the platypus
have their own glory.
Humans have ourown glory. Do other
creatures adore
the useless,the only gorgeous,
the green wave
of Northern Lightsdimming the stars?
The indented shadow
of the heron’s bathin a snowdrift? Why
must it be beautiful?
When we pass, withthe bee, with
the butterfly,
with the polar bear,the leopard,
the gazelle,
who will grievethis deep and terrible
loss? Who will delight
in what comes next?
I am reposting this, since it seems ideal for this week’s prompt: to say why you think you’re alive, why you were born, and why you’re still around: What are your reasons? …try responding to this prompt without using the word "I" (me, my, mine).
Though I did post a poem yesterday, this one seems much more responsive, even though it was written months ago — and I doubt I could answer the question better than this does.
And I need a reminder this morning.
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