Wind Turbines Give Bats the “Bends,” Study Finds
Half of the dead bats that lie like jetsam around the tall masts of wind turbines appear unharmed, wingbones unbroken, their ears’ stiff calipers still cocked. But an autopsy finds their lungs flooded with blood, as if punctured by invisible splinters. It seems each whirling blade grows a zone of low pressure at its tip, & the bats, attracted to the motion, are caught unprepared — for what in 50 million years of evolution could’ve prepared them for barotrauma bursting the web of vessels in their lungs, so that they drown in the air? Their dun or silver bodies crumple like divers with the bends. Exquisitely tuned sonar systems go silent. The propellors spin on, as if in service to some vast, uncaptained ship, a new Flying Dutchman, yawing under the glue-eyed moon.
Written in response to a Read Write Poem prompt, according to which I harvested five words, one each from five different poems, and wove a poem around them. Other responses to the prompt may be found here. My words came from Lia Purpura’s wonderful and quirky new book King Baby: slat, calipers, splinter, dun, and glue-eyed. All five words were present in the first draft of this poem, in the order in which I pulled them from a bag, but “thin slats of their wingbones” didn’t survive the edit.