Board Meeting Minutes: Fiscal Moon, 2078, Skyrise
Hinky corporate suits toil
whisper fervent words
over glossy boardroom tables,
pray to politicians, shareholders
and two barely animate amphibians
blinking in their terrarium,
“Make the fish come back
make the fish come back.
We’re sorry.” All that the lizards
could decipher was, “We’re broke.”
Oral History: No Moon, 2254, Not Earth
your great nokom from seven generations ago always said you were her fortune. in 2078, when the giigoonhsag were on the verge of collapse (thirty years after experts predicted they would die off) she hover-boarded to the Pacific Ocean, to a place called the Bay of Umbilical Cords and Placentas. here, she got naked and waded into neap tide at setting sun. it’s said she floated supine into the future holding a tool in either hand: a knife and a curette. your nokom was a contrary, being facetious in the most serious of times. as she lingered in the refractions of the radiated emerald waters and fluorescent mango sun she is said to have relished what it did to her skin: “i look like a shimmering plum. it’s amazing how much more becoming polluted air and light can make an old woman’s prune skin appear. too bad i’m on another gig at the moment or i’d try to package this up and make a buck.”
E-News Archive: Salmon Moon, 2078
First person accounts indicate that all along the West Coast of the Americas, old women of variable shapes, colours, sizes, and mobility’s have been seen entering the ocean. Early reports indicate this is the first round of mass-suicides-as-demonstration against continued Corporate and State investment in global and intergalactic progress and development. Witnesses indicate hearing the women repeat a variety of words in different languages which all refer to fish. The women carry various kinds of knifes and what appear to be surgical tools. Also reported but not yet confirmed: the women are bearded.
Lip Point for Bearded Women, A Ceremony: No Moon, 2254, Not Earth
ceremonies to honour Grandmothers
who entered dilapidated oceans
found every festering feruncle
in the salt water of our ancestral life
Grandmothers whose curettes incised
poisonous wounds in caverns, crevices
and those swimmers still living, whose
beards absorbed the drainage, whose knifes
liberated their aching bodies from buoyant weight,
leaving bloodsalt&water, a wash for the living
ceremonies to honour Grandmothers
who saved the Fish and Us
ceremonies to honour Grandmothers
because hinky corporate suits didn’t
even when their prayers were answered