by Alfred K. LaMotte

I voted

I voted for the rainbow 

I voted for the cry of a loon

I voted for my grandfather’s bones
That feed beetles now

I voted for a singing brook that sparkles
   under a North Dakota bean field.

I voted for the salty air through which the whimbrel flies
South along the shores of two continents 

I voted for the melting snow that returns to the wellspring of
    darkness, where the sky is born from the earth.

I voted for the daemonic mushrooms in the loam
    and the old democracy of worms

I voted for the wordless treaty that cannot be broken
by white men or brown, because it is made of star semen,
    thistle sap, hieroglyphs of the weevil in prairie oak.

I voted for the local, the small, the brim
    that does not spill over, the abolition of waste,
    the luxury of enough.

I voted for the commonwealth of the ancient forest
    a larva for every beak, a wing-tinted flower 
    for every moth’s disguise, a well-fed mammal’s corpse
    for every colony of maggots.

I voted for open borders between death and birth

I voted on the ballot of a fallen leaf of sycamore 
    that cannot be erased, for it becomes the dust and rain,
    and then a tree again.

I voted for more fallow time to cultivate wild flowers 
    more recess in schools to cultivate play,
    more leisure, tax free, more space between days.

I voted to increase the profit of evening silence
    and the price of a thrush song

I voted for ten million stars in your next inhalation.

Submitted by Wendy Condrat