michael tank portfolio

featured in landscapes of possibility (2013) and at in the voyager update project at space collective: http://spacecollective.org/tank/3542/Final-Thoughts-and-Appendices-on-the-Human-Suit-written-in-a-car-racing-up-Interstate-5-inbetween-nonviolent-actions-and-amongst-the-redwoods

Christmas day, nineteen sixty eight
in the winter twice after the summer of love

on that day
a single photograph encircled the globe. humanity,
no more a brain divided into east and west lobes. it was
the first photo of the earth as a whole. we instantly
saw ourselves as one species whole.

we gave premature birth to global consciousness that day.

when a human child is born, they say, 
their eyes stay fixed and focused
not more than one foot through the space in front of their face
this is precisely the distance 
from their eyes to the eyes of their father's mistress
as they are savoring the milk from her breast

and for one day our eyes were focused on Earthrise
it was no big surprise to those of us who’d just arrived

after birth, soon we notice children's eyes start to wander
they recognize patterns and the world fills with wonder
the eyes develop depth perception, sensitivity to motion
and they turn from their mothers - 

interested in the abstract notions
their absent fathers attached to the celestial motions

and so we, three years after our due date, 
sent a message to the stars
to an unknown species inquiring quietly as to who we are

thus again we turned our backs and all humanity was distracted
our mothers skin we peeled away and fossil fuels we extracted
blind eyes to our plunder like government memos being redacted
we lifted candles to the sky as if the stars were interactive

we say hey kids thought these lighthouses were there
to guide others through the night
to say "hey! somebody there?"
but only distressed vessels carelessly dare
burn their rations of ancient sunlight

a newborn’s pleaing and crying through the night 
to tell its mother that something's wrong
i am crying, 
something's wrong in my world - 
my mother is dying
and i hold today

her last photograph from a satellite flying, and its plain to see
on the print there shine a million candles lifted skyward, crying
out a fiery message of distress 
past the hospital bed to the ether at the universe' end

and this candle is trying to speak not with aliens but with future generations
on behalf of an alien species, baby humans just developing the hand-eye coordination to facilitate the movement by which the woman on the bed will collectively awaken

to communicate this condition in the languages learned during gestation
to send a kernel of information to we who will soon be a mature and native product of speciation

because soon after a child begins to understand 
that sunsets lead to dawns
the trauma of childhood will be repressed 
into the collective subconscious
lessons learned, without memories to linger on

only hospital records 
and photographs 
of our mother 
lighting birthday candles