We’ve been here before, but it’s never been like this. So I wrote a poem that ponders our tribalism and our willful blindness to precedence.
Monoculture
We nestle deep into
our perfectly dug ditch
turn away from
that which contradicts.
If truth filters in
from around or from above
we weed it out, poison it
leave only what we love
to grow
— for generations —
even though
we know
— from history —
(that can’t happen to me)
(that’s a colored tellin’ of the story)
soil will fail
strong winds wail
terrible rains assail
erosion, degradation
will prevail
The ditch will cease to exist
because the rich, sweet loam
required for growth
— warm hearth — happy home —
cannot persist in stasis.
The worm will turn.
Our mouldering selves
will fill the wells
and build new earth.
Seeds of ideas will germinate
in this regenerating place,
and over time erase
the collective memory
of our shared disgrace,
and the cycle will begin again.
Listen to me read Monoculture here ☝🏼.
I’d love to hear feedback on this piece, both in the form of critique and content discussion. Mostly, though, can you help me come up with a catchy title? Can’t wait to hear from you in the comments.
The title “Monoculture” is actually quite fitting. It carries both literal and metaphorical weight, reflecting the dangers of cultivating only one way of thinking, believing, or being. Just as in agriculture, monoculture in society leads to fragility: the loss of resilience, diversity, and long-term health. The poem's imagery of digging in, poisoning truth, and clinging to familiar growth echoes that perfectly. The closing movement, where death feeds renewal, suggests the inevitability of cycles, but also the cost of repeating them blindly. It’s a powerful metaphor, and the title encapsulates it well! 👏🏻
Kim, this piece resonates so strongly,
Your imagery turns soil into a mirror, showing both our fragilty and the quiet promise of seeds waiting underneath
thank you for capturing that tension with such grace and hope