Change

My poetry anthology won a Silver Award in the 2016 Ocean Awareness Student Contest! Read the poem below!

 Oil on Water

Thin-film interference is beautiful—a myriad

of iridescent hues in nacreous swirls,

oil on water.

Rainbows on the ground, white light blooming

into an infinity of harmony; monotony morphing

into color, lazily waltzing to the dance of opulence.

Oil on water.

Tons of black, pungent oil gushing in relentless

eddies, pouring darkness into a sparkling realm of

innocence. Spewing death into waves of life.

Mother, a little girl said. What are those colorful

puddles in the water? Mother looked grim.

Runoff of oil from a factory, sweetheart.

The girl took a step forward, cautiously, deliberately—

saw the swirls of oil spread their spectral wings in the

endless blue, reflecting shards of sunlight,

glittering in devastating tones.

The patterns are kind of pretty, she thought. Until

she looked around, saw a fish floating in the water,

nestled against the ripples of faint brownish-red.

Motionless, unseeing,

dead.

Horrified, she yelped, fell against her mother’s

arms. The lustrous opals glimmering in the sea

were no longer beautiful. They were deadly,

venom down unsuspecting throats.

Inhaled by unwary, heedless noses. Injected

into guiltless blood-streams, absorbed through

sinless skins.

Oil on water.

             Awake

Her name was Hope. Three years later, she watched

the news—saw the plight of the oceanic realm.

Birds enmeshed in glops of oil, struggling

to breathe the fresh, unadulterated air. Pelicans

mired in hopelessness, unable to fly. Too

overwhelmed by the pollution around them, contrasted

with the glistening purity of the sky.  

Fish strewn across the waters, in a line of

agony. Like little grains of rice in a glass of

water and soy sauce. Open mouths, as though

they had been gasping for breath in the last

few seconds of their abridged lives.

A pipeline had burst, spilling its toxins into the

Earth’s azure treasuries. Human negligence,

Hope thought. Errors at the expense of

natural, indispensable life. Drilling procedures

in the sea, spilling oil, petroleum—tarnishing

the sparkling blue, leaving behind a darkened

ache.

Ocean pollution, everywhere. Death, horror

permeating throughout the fabric of

the globe. Oil seeping into the plumage of birds

once majestic, of birds with feathers once fine. Preening

birds ingest the venom, choke to the underworld.

Rubbing her hands together, Hope stood up. Tied

her loose strands of hair, threw her

shoulders back. Felt like her mellifluous voice had

been amplified by a thousand times, as she said

to herself: within my power, within my range,

within whatever resources I have nestled in my palms;

within my abilities, but beyond my dreams,

from now on I strive to make a change.  

           Change

Hope stepped into a lab, weeks of

rigorous training trailing behind her. Oil-soaked

creatures, bereft of an identity. Just a shapeless

mass, entrenched in the shackles of loss. Massaging

a pelican in warm vegetable oil, ridding it of

its blackened smears.

With the dexterity of an expert, with the tenderness

of a mother, Hope cleaned the bird’s tainted

plumage, watching with delight as its feathers

reverted back to their natural, lightened hue. Watched

as the innocent bird regained its ability to hunt,

to feed itself, to fly,

to live.

Without a family, but with the chance

of starting a new life in the wild—destroyed by

the oil spill, but offered a chance at

resurrection. Hope watched injured, asphyxiated

sea turtles regain their ability to breathe, to

swim with the power of their species. Held,

massaged, promised to save them; never

forgot her vow to make a change.

Campaigns which began as messages written

with fluorescent markers, on tattered pieces of

cardboard. Shouted on the streets

in a quiet, desolated neighborhood, a few ears willing

to listen, never willing to act.

Campaigns which blossomed into a line of

supporters, messages spray-painted on unending

lines of pale blue cloth; pictures of birds drenched

in oil, of fish floating—unseeing, devoid of life.

Pictures of the ugly thin-film interference on

pristine waves of water. Discharge from factories,

accidents from oil tankers. Hundreds conflated

into a single voice, brimming with

passion; ears pricking up, emotion welling

in once dispassionate eyes, indifferent façades.

As lines of supporters cleaned up fallen

animals, raised awareness in voices immaculately

arranged; thought Hope—I have begun

to make a change.   

          Power

Years older, years of advocacy trailing behind her,

helping her speak before stern officials, spectacles

glinting menacingly.

A petition—gleaming, beautiful paper:
stop offshore drilling!

Thousands of names, emotions,

tears. In response to death, illness, devastation. Petitions—

for leak detection devices, regular inspections.

Prevention is better than cure, her eyes read,

glittering with a powerful, purposeful light.

We have one world, Hope said. Water is what

has birthed us, what has distinguished the earth

from a boiling sphere of fire and rock. Train

your workers, station emergency personnel

in the devastating case of an oil spill! Double

hulls in marine vessels. Thick-hulled tanks.

Raise awareness, rally the ranks. If a spill occurs—

evacuation zones, equipment, love and care!

Urbanization is all very well… but progress

coupled with environmental destruction? You may

believe that the globe is developing: but continue

at this terrifying pace, aspire to stay ahead

of the race—and there shall be no future for my children,

no future for yours. Just a swirling mass of

human superiority, mingled with the past

souls of innocent marine life, and the swirls of

leftover oil.

The crowd behind Hope murmured,

excited by the prospect of positive change; moved

by the presence of environmental advocacy—

powerful advocacy, words and actions to

save, to propagate, beautiful lives.  

Hope stood tall, unflinching. Thinking of the pelicans

she had bathed, thinking of the ones that had passed

away into the arms of oblivion. Remembering

the day she discovered oil spills, how she had believed

that its twirling motifs could be beautiful. A life of exposure

to ocean pollution.

But she was born to make a change.

 Aftermath

She walked alone, basking in the solitude; her

silvery-white hair fluttering before heavy

eyes. Dry lips widening into a smile

as she saw young children running about,

next to water so fresh, pure—it made her heart

swell with joy, with pride. Hope’s happiness

steadfastly refused to subside.

I’ve been a little, naïve girl, she thought. Who

blossomed into a student, an environmental activist,

a petitioner, a legislator. But I am still Hope—

for I help breed hope when there is none. I’ve helped

save waters that were thought too tarnished

to be saved, I’ve helped the forthcoming

generations of animals.

She went near the water, laughed as sunlight

smiled off its rippling crests. Swirls of rainbow hues

can be lovely, but nothing is more beautiful than

an untainted blue.

My life is almost over, but I can pass away

in peace; for across my lifespan, across its

range—

I know that I have made a

change.