Plastic Poem
Joanna Cleary

Years ago, in a university poetry class,

I had to write a poem to plastic. I said

I was both ashamed and not ashamed

for always needing it. Another student

braver than me read an apology aloud,

saying she was sorry for using plastic

before throwing it out—that we treat it

as we do women, underpaid laborers,

even our bodies. Wanting repentance

to make me whole, I quietly chimed in,

said I was part plastic; plastic part me.

Today, it’s spring—sunlight trickles in

through my windows. It’s tricky to tell

if the sun rising each day is forgiveness

or mere indifference. I take out the trash

with its takeout containers and remnants,

telling dirty bags they’ll live beyond me

to spend an infinity gazing up at the sun;

I’m too ashamed to admit they’ll never

be the better part of me. All they can do

is to look up at things lovelier than them.

I promise, I think, looking at the plastic,

to reduce and recycle. To better myself.

To do penance so I’ll be forgiven. Then,

I go inside to celebrate how clean I feel.

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Joanna Cleary’s Comments

When it comes to the environment, I often have to fight between two contradictory drives—the learned drive to do whatever it takes to be environmentally conscious and the primal drive to do whatever is easiest. It’s easy for one to say that they care about the environment, but it’s also easy to only take superficial actions towards reducing one’s ecological footprint. I wrote “Plastic Poem” to explore the guilt that can come with this hypocrisy in the hopes that acknowledging my flaws—and the flaws perhaps many of us share—will drive me to make my efforts to become an environmentally conscious person more authentic.

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