in praise of composting

Why is it that so many of my poems are about trash?

I suppose it is because I am obsessed with what we leave behind, how trash is what makes up our legacy, how what we throw away remains longer than our own lives, especially in these days of plastic and steel and nuclear waste. Today I am sharing another poem about trash, but it is secretly and truly about the little things we can do to make the world bloom, about how not to lose hope, about how everything is built on the compost of everything else.

it pains me to see you throw an orange peel into the trash can
“please put it in the compost,” I say
“what does it matter? If I don’t compost is the world going to end?”
you ask this with such anger, with such certainty as if we can do nothing to help the world
“yes,” I say “that’s exactly right”
for everything in the trash can
will be wrapped in plastic
for the next million years
suffocating so close to the earth, yet horribly kept apart
so desperate to return, but unable to
however, if you put it in the compost
it will be gone in a matter of months back into fresh earth
think soil
think the stuff of green forests
think the stuff of all living
for everything that is now, was born of compost
born of all the broken down bits of what once was
so yes, to break this cycle
is to break the making and remaking of the earth
nothing is meant to last forever or even half that long
think of salad greens in your fridge
think of butterflies perfect for just two weeks of near weightless living
even we are made to return to the dirt rather quickly
you roll your eyes at this, say “whatever”
as I dig into the trash can
to find the bit of peel
you put in there
you tell me
“you’re the only one I know who cares about this stuff”
I do not reply as I put the peel into the compost bin
but I should have told you
that the trees care and so does the orange peel
that the dirt and the water care
so does everything that has ever bloomed
to compost is natural
to compost is to give back
to compost is to be a part of the breathing cycle
of living and dying and living again
don’t fallen leaves form the forest floor?
don’t the sunken carcasses of once great whales
become some new and sacred part of the sea?
to put organic matter into a plastic trash bag
is to curse it
is to crush its purpose
is to end the world
everything cares about compost but us
I want to be different, at least in this small way
for to be a human now is to ruin
but maybe we can make some small change
maybe we can honor the orange peel
with a quick disintegration
I can only pray to be honored in the same way
I hope that my dying can be of use
oh please
when I die
leave nothing between me
and the dirt
let my dying feed flowers

Alexander

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