Beneath the pristine peaks and snow-capped mounds,
Lie records of our past and future selves.
A precious commodity lying dormant,
Safe from prying eyes and probing minds.
Locked up in overlapping, concentric circles
Of mutually enticing atmospheric destruction.
As we carefully peel away the surging layers,
These chemical catacombs reveal their secrets.
Your broken histories leave open wounds,
Which we nurse with ice torn from the ground.
The harshness of our winters past
A shadow of the summers that lie in wait.
“Your broken histories leave open wounds” (Photo Credit: Public Domain).
This poem is inspired by recent research that has used ice core records to make accurate historical observations of atmospheric iodine,
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