Yamille Craven

1999

OBLIGATE AEROBE
"Man is an obligate aerobe"
· Hippocrates
 
We depend on air.
All death is lack of breath.
Air paradisal, sky-blue, mist-gray, transparent as cellophane around.
Cease to mix and blend air
within us, and we're done for.
 
We depend on water,
oxygen-hydrogen minglement,
to cool, quench, sooth us,
hydrate and drench us,
from depths of olive green
to shallows of aqua seas.
 
We depend on a tranquil backdrop painted in greens and blues.
But we daub it with red of blood, scratch garish orange of explosions, spatula-smear hot scarlet with fire.  Wash black with smoke.
Eden to purgatory then.
Undefiled, suspended between heaven and hell, earth was the tabula rasa when man beset it.  Given our ration of obligate air and water, we wield upon it furious brush strokes, like a mental patient excoriating his past, to expiate his sins.

Yamile Craven