Note: Citizens of Earth, facing imminent oblivion, seek an alternate home. A scribe
​dreams of Upper Zygonia, an imaginary planet.
 
we observed from space
everywhere flooding
shoreline storms, chemical poisons
we were in a hurry
the earth was peeled and pitted
a pale pink crumpled up ball
 
we were fleeing pollutants
harmful materials
watched the gradual
change of the colour of the sky
its chalky unknown, our continent
odd and waxy
 
pollution was the introduction
warming, sea levels, the endless
purple-grey washing up,
a faded indigo
ocean creatures dying.
the beaches fibrous
centuries of
breaking down
 
our tears stained
the sidewalks when we
encountered the harmful environment
the destruction of centuries’ old roots
 ongoing ocean and atmospheric ruin
the birds transformed by bad air
water, and runoff produced by factories
pollutants that would damage
future trash turning into subdued ash
 
we wanted to save ourselves
burning coal, cars spewing
pollutants and homes generating
garbage and sewage
we saw fewer insects,
flowers and barks
the air thick as wool
sea levels rise causing erosion
we were fleeing from hazards
from nostalgic memories
and golden ideals
 
we were fleeing industrial
and wastewater effects
growth meant gases into the lake
spongy clouded depths once had years
one-celled microbes to blue large city
an aquifer over a sodden mud road
toxic clouds. whales dwindling
all living things. drought begets drought
so most of this water implanted
in the terrestrial air was water
plunk down a city
 
we were fleeing the soil infertile
for years. clouds of smog
collected into nearby valleys
as the residents of the towns
suffer deadly gases
 
we were fleeing heatwaves
killing hundreds. extreme heat
dries out the soil. thunderstorms
set fire to dry forests
we were choked, or asphyxiated,
by the atmosphere
as a result, not enough land remains.
there are landslides
 
we were fleeing a pressure cooker
dead birds and other organisms
in a hazardous climate
burnt out of their natural habitat
this air all bunched up with toxic
clouds devouring landscapes
we are fleeing years without rain.
a ludicrous place to work on the land
desert skies clear as petroleum jelly
tatty from lifetimes of abuse
 
we swallowed slimy euphemisms as if they were cream
letting reality slip into unimaginably soft platitudes
making metal bouquets out of fool’s gold
drinking dollar beers in frontier towns of yester year
 
the earth is simmering
choose yer tannins
sea level continues to rise
lakes one-eighth of an inch per
painful cuts in wells
“unused” grass is banned
yellow-orange sign of water restrictions
at a rate of about cabbage
megadroughts make wore with farmers
non-arable the once verdant is a
megalopolis form of black
boiled down as seen on the satellite image
pink from above
the reasons why this once
beautiful unsustainable
precious commodity
 
we are fleeing the black water
that was once coastal cities
the fires and drought emergencies
dry a crisis
the amazon, a now-pale
speck on a disappearing map
inside the crucible of lip service policies
decided by each municipality
billions of trees burnt out
ghosts in the ancient forests
helpless against environmental vandalism
 
we are running without predictable course of action
the ground on steroids.
the battle for water
deadly and destructive storm surges
empty maps. push farther inland
the wild lightfast end
 
we’re fleeing deadly floods
sheets of ice
flash floods
grieving 1 million species never to be
devastation and death
vanishing forests
deforestation
wildfires sweeping through towns,
fine powders of ash raining down
 
corrupted oceans
an alien place. the voice of earth
is trembling,
the ice melted long ago
sea level rise
thermal south
dust expansion caused by warming
emissions from human activity
increased atmospheric heat
 
we’ve thrown ink on the fire.
extreme rain terrifying
scenes of devastation and death
swelling streams
towns washed away
no shelter remains
despite the ample warnings
 
we wrote letters to the rain in pen or brush
this should not be happening
a burning future
fruitless markings by our desires--abandoning all
renouncers of climate change

The Before is a guided remix, which takes words and phrases from the following sources:
 
Pollution from the National Geographic Resource Library.
 
Cornwall, Warren, Europe’s deadly floods leave scientists stunned, Science Magazine, 7/20/21.
 
Keith, Arthur, 6 Of the Most Unsustainable Cities, Analyzed, Medium, 7/12/21.
 
Logan, Jason, The Colour: The Colour of Water, 7/20/21; The Unknown Continent 7/23/21; Handwriting 7/16/21; Berry Stains 7/2/21.
 
Luymes, Glenda, First look at Lytton reveals terrible extent of fire damage, Vancouver Sun, 7/9-12/21.
 
National Ocean Service, Is sea level rising?, O2/26/21.
 
National Ocean Service, What is glacial isostatic adjustment? 08/11/21.
 
Sandy, Matt The Amazon Rain Forest Is Nearly Gone, Time Magazine.
 
Sims, Amanda,  4 Steps to Naturally Dyeing Any Fabric Using Foods, Architectural Digest, 10/12/18.

Amanda Earl (she/her) is a pansexual, polyamorous feminist who writes, makes visual poetry, edits and publishes others and lives in Ottawa on unceded Algonquin Anishinabe territory. Earl is the author of Kiki (Chaudiere Books, 2014, now with Invisible Publishing). Her latest chapbook is The Before, an excerpt from Welcome to Upper Zygonia (above/ground press, 2022). She's the managing editor of Bywords.ca, the fallen angel of AngelHousePress, and the editor of Judith: Women Making Visual Poetry (Timglaset Editions, 2021). Welcome to Upper Zygonia has been awarded a City of Ottawa Creation and Production Fund for Established Writers Grant in 2021. Further info: https://linktr.ee/amandaearl

It snows every April in Ontario, yet
everyone's still shocked about it.
Even the daffodils expect it and brace
their stemy spines against short-lived
frost. We can all stop acting shocked
when horrible things happen now, okay?
We can all stop performing, like most
years' crops aren't ruined by some sort

of weather. If not
weather, then
blight, then
aphids, then

a water shortage making almonds
more priceless than gold.

The Perseverance converted the atmosphere
of Mars into breathable oxygen
the other day. A few humans would require
1 tonne a year to survive there. It's more
reasonable to build a structure that creates

what we need to live
than to rely on a planet
to make it for us.
We should all expect

that at first, the gears will malfunction.
Some irreplaceable part
will need replacing, and the first humans
who set foot on that red soil not fit
for human life will die, and float
out to space like fleshy little satellites.
​
One day though, we'll be
so accustomed to life on Mars, after we're
out of water and weather and aphids here,
and it is so warm we should be
surprised at an April snowfall, that when
the annual November dust storm
tints the world orange and we must clean
the vents with Q-tips to survive,
everyone will act surprised.

Conyer Clayton is a writer, musician, and editor living on unceded Algonquin Anishinaabe land. She is the author of We Shed Our Skin Like Dynamite (Guernica Editions, 2020, Winner of the Ottawa Book Award), But the sun, and the ships, and the fish, and the waves (A Feed Dog Book by Anvil Press, 2022), and many chapbooks, including several collaborative ones with VII, a creative collective of which she is a member. Her poetry, essays, and criticism appear in Room Magazine, filling station, Canthius, Arc Poetry Magazine, CV2, The Capilano Review and others. www.conyerclayton.com

He said, when I grow up, I’m going to be able to choose my kid's eye colour.
She said, why’s that?
He said, science, mom - that’s why.
She said, when you grow up, you’ll be looking for consistent water supply.
He said, why do you always have to do that?
She said, do what?
He said, make every conversation about climate change?
She said, I don’t mean to; I just want to be real with you.
He said, you never say anything positive. Ever.
She said, I’m sorry – that’s not my intention.
He said, my friends think you’re a downer.
She said, would you rather I pretend it’s not happening?
He said, I’d rather you let be happy sometimes.
She said, I want to prepare you.
He said, to be miserable.
She said, fine. What eye colour would you choose?
He said, screw you.
She said nothing
He said, I’m sorry. You just suck all the air out of the room sometimes.
She said, is that an apology?
He said, I’m pretty angry.
She said, you should be, but it’s misdirected.
He said, I’m going to be happy regardless of what’s coming.
She said, good, I want that for you.
He said, you make it hard.
She said, I’m trying to do the right thing but I don’t know what that is.
He said, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
She said, ok.
He pulled out his phone and said, purple.
She said, purple would be cool.