Catastrophe, or the labour of mourning the familiar
Frances Grimshaw

I think I'll miss the world as I know it
small body in a big city
life-web woven with purple sky
star scarcity and decaf lattes
the rhythm of the hurry
 
I think I'll miss the world as I know it
free of responsibility
unbothered
untethered
moisturised
maximised
in my lane
 
I think I’ll miss the
numbness
I think I'll miss the
lightness
 
tired of grief, I'm chasing avoidance
can’t carry climate, can’t swallow sky
so am I spectator, perpetrator or victim?
as in, what do I grieve and what do I carry,
and what do I hold close to the chest?
 
chest collapsed on the out-breath
exhale exhale
inhale  exhale
the whole world collapsed
into that one-two
rhythm
 
control 	
clench
exert
gasp
gasp
pause
hold
sigh
release
in
out
inhale
exhale
 
first the end
end of the world
end of a world
exhale exhale
 
and then loss and
then inhale and
then breath begins
again and
again and
again
and
 
maybe if we speed up
maybe if we slow down
it might be enough
to stop the deluge
but it won’t
 
the seawalls stretch longer
every time I visit home
and we can’t hold back the ocean
 
every day
up to 150 species are lost
 
every day
up to 150 species
are lost
 
as colour drains from the reef
mourning makes my city strange
to think the apocalypse is yet to come
I must be pretty far away from the earth

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Frances Grimshaw is a geographer and poet of Irish, German, and English heritage. Both their academic and creative work investigates how emotions, place and temporality shape the human experience in the context of environmental crises. This poem was written on Wadawurrung Country.

You can follow their work through their newsletter; get access through Instagram (@francesrenaissance) or email (francespjgrimshaw@gmail.com).