Gaia’s Closet

That the planet’s history,
Meaning what’s preserved in stone,
Should bear a weird resemblance

To ways that people store things,
Especially the hoarders
Who’ve had to move too often,

Is odd. Earth’s rocks back things up
Like the attic or office
Of someone who’s been adding

And, on occasion, partly
Purging over a lifetime.
For a person, this pattern

Makes sense—each cycle,
Some things are too valuable,
Personal, sentimental

To throw away, but in time,
Repetition grows ruthless
And eccentric. Surviving

Items from early in life
Form a more and more cryptic,
Questionable residue,

The middle years show logic
But with occasional tears
And gaps as relationships

And one-time aspirations
Are ripped clean from the record.
The recent stuff’s whatever,

Nothing re-examined yet.
Geology looks the same,
As if the Earth had regrets,

Second guesses, bad break-ups,
And, in the end, just bizarre
Nostalgia and affection

For things saved so many times,
Merely by not being lost
They’ve become ugly precious--

One might suspect the planet
Of editing in the hope
Life looked good from what got saved.