The LordGod Bird

As though returned from the dead
the ivory-billed woodpecker
was sighted in the swamps of Arkansas.

It had lived in large areas of old forest
lost long ago to logging.

Lord God!  people would say when they saw it.

Its wingspan of almost a yard,
its long strong bill
and high feathery crest
not seen in sixty years.

My wild beating heart just won’t stop
said one ornithologist.

The sighting was confirmed
the last week in April.

Restrictions on road building
and lumbering in national forests
were removed the first week in May.

Seventeen years later 
it was declared extinct.


 
Wild Ice     

Cubes clink
at galas and spirits soak       
in crushed ice. 

Wild ice
calves into the sea
at an accelerating pace
and the oceans rise.
              
Sea-level island nations 
fear for their lives.               
Water lips their land,          
laps higher and higher.            

New York officials foresee              
miles of high-rises with no lights, 
no elevators, no potable water. They worry
about subway tunnels flooding,
Wall Street shutting down.                                   
They calculate the effect
on the economy.           
  
They posit flood gates in rivers,
storm surge barriers, raising boilers 
out of basements and power generators 
above water levels. They agonize over costs.                         

Ice cubes clink. 
Wild ice calves 
and melts
drop 
by 
drop.

The seas grow wilder.


 
Today’s Colossus   

My arm held high to allow my nails to dry
I, Antoinette of the New World, proudly stand
Here at the gateway to a once decent land                  
To meet newcomers and turn them away, deny 

Them access to a place we glorify,
Hunt them down and kick them from our homeland      
Whether they raft the sea or wade the Rio Grande.                 
Don’t comprehend?  I’ll clarify.

My voice rings out—no ambiguity:
Go back where you belong, you tired, poor                               
Huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
You wretched refuse of a teeming shore.
Don’t flee, you homeless, tempest-tossed, to me.
I raise my fist beside the padlocked door.


________________________________________

Phyllis Wax writes on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan in Milwaukee, WI. She grew up in the Washington, DC area, which might be why social justice issues push their way into much of her work. Also inspired by nature and human nature, as well as by music of all sorts, her poetry has appeared in many publications, including Writers Resist, Jerry Jazz Musician, Rise Up Review, Spillway, Peacock Journal, Gyroscope Review, Wordpeace, New Verse News, Your Daily Poem, Mobius.