retching dead fish by Jesse Holth

we are melting twice as fast
here in the north, the north
above us, three times over
the rest. we cannot rest
now, reaping the dark
damages, so quick, even if
we don’t want it, if
we do what we can to stop
the plastic-pipelines-pesticides from
growing. the backbone of our country
has always been extraction, pulling
whatever it can—from the land,
screaming. we sucked it dry,
the blood of this good place,
the poisoned water, retching
dead fish. I hope you take
some comfort in knowing
it could have been stopped.
we made a sky-full of smoke,
burning, fire. but there is time
to catch ourselves, while falling:
the birds, disappearing in great
numbers, empty skies howling.
some are found dead, have died
with their bellies choked up:
bottle caps, rings, in the rib cage,
eaten and cooked, discarded
so much garbage. eastern winds
blowing backdraft, heat, all over
seas and fields. it’s so hard
to breathe, on days like this.

This poem was featured in Issue 07 of Canthius.

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Jesse Holth is a writer, editor, and poet living on Lekwungen/Songhees and WSÁNEĆ territory. Her work has appeared in over a dozen international publications, including Grain, Room, CV2, and others. She previously served as Assistant Poetry Editor at The Tishman Review, and is currently working on two full-length poetry collections.