Gravity Poem by Amy Chai

Today I walk above ground, grateful
for gold-tinged leaves and rarefied air.
Clay, gravel, mica, dust—
remember me and gently pull
my feet, knees, and hips earthward
as I drink the waxing moon.

What's gone is now forgotten;
a generation removed from seed and harvest.
Silicone, plastic, concrete, steel,
stretch upward, granting glimpses
of immortality—my feet bend downward
but never touch bare earth.

Below the ground I must return;
the brilliant sky will fade—
gold, crimson, violet, black.
Who will sing a hymn for me
while I am dying?
No one knows them anymore.