This Is Where It Ends Up

This is where it goes Nobody designed it like this. That’s just the fact of it.

Nobody rolled out of bed one morning and said 'I know what this neighborhood needs- a landfill right next to a stream'.

It just sort of...

Piled up.

One plastic bag left, one packet discarded, one person expecting somebody else to dispose of it and then another and then a hundred and then it becomes… this. Red bags.

Blue bags.

Wrappers I can read from this distance.

Old sweaters.

Singed spots from someone setting some of it on fire – which doesn’t solve the problem from the ground into the air where it becomes somebody's lungs. And just behind all of this completely oblivious nature – green trees, white blossoms, a stream still trickling through. And that contrast between that and this is what won't leave my mind.

Nature working in its quiet ways on the other side of everything we throw away. This isn't a landfill on the edge of town; this is a neighborhood corner.

A kid’s walk to school.

The smell alone is pollution but the smell from when this is on fire (and it always burns) is carried miles by the wind. We say Kathmandu's air is bad primarily because of traffic.

It's also because of this.

These corners.

These mounds.

This silent, persistent burning no one counts but everyone inhales. The plastic didn't get there by itself.

It arrived there one decision at a time.v