Dear Planet,
We’re sorry.
We didn’t mean to leave the fridge open,
the fires burning,
the ice melting.
We were busy –
and scared –
and sometimes too distracted by blinking screens
to notice the blinking signs.
But we saw it.
We did see it.
We just didn’t always know what to do.
You gave us everything.
You offered us oceans and oxygen,
seeds and starlight,
sand between our toes
and thunder in our chests.
You gave us rhythm and rain and reason to dance.
And we paved over so much of it.
We buried your songs beneath concrete and convenience.
And still – you waited.
We didn’t do enough. But we didn’t do nothing.
Some of us marched.
Planted.
Voted.
Cried.
Recycled.
Raged.
We lit candles and carried signs.
We talked to the trees.
We turned off the lights when we remembered.
And some of us raised children that see you.
Children who know how to listen.
Who know that courage doesn’t always roar –
sometimes it composts.
Sometimes it stays.
Sometimes it grows.
So here’s what we hope from our children – from your children:
That they’ll forgive us.
That they’ll outlive our mistakes.
That they’ll build canopies where we built cages.
That they’ll find beauty in what’s left
and bravery in what’s possible.
And that they will take this with them:
They are not too small.
They are not too late.
They are not alone.
This planet is theirs now –
so is its wonder.
So is its wildness.
So is its will to live.
Love,
The Radical Left