We are Atlas

Greeted with nature, a gift

As dangerous as it is irreplaceable,

We are told as children to leave it in a better state

Than when we arrived.

To keep the gnarls of her roots and the scars in her underbrush

From strangling us with the very things we subsist upon.

But we are children tending to a wildfire, flames licking at unmarked skin

Wreaths of heat wrapped around us like a mother's arms

Told only not to fan the flames for those that come after us

And sometimes in our darker moments we blame the messenger

Those who scratched out the sparks should rent smoke like real estate in their lungs and

Choke like us.

But sometimes I wonder if they were children too, once

Thrust in the sea and told only not to drown

Shackled by weights from another generation

And when they clawed up for air, heaving and dying and angry

They couldn't dare to face another drop of water again,

And told us we we should feel lucky for every hardship that was never theirs

To bear.

Every generation holds the world on its shoulders.

If I'm ever going to change it, like it or not

I need to forgive those who came before me

And those who will come after.