helpless – a poem
There should be noise.
There should be people.
“Weather event,” they say.
“Too dangerous,” they say.
I hug my knees tight against my chest. I dare not swallow, straining instead to hear the sounds I seek. My throat is tight. Every part of my body is tense. I am a taut coil of stillness.
Ready to explode.
But waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting.
News reports gleefully show photos. Videos.
Wind. And rain.
And water, water, water, water, water.
Reporters with fake concern spout statistics.
More questions than answers fill my computer screen, my news feeds; friends and followers all seeking information when there’s none to give. More questions. Few answers. I turn off the TV. The batteries die in my devices, one by one.
Worry consumes me.
Parents, like me,
Listening to the silence
There should be noise here. There should be people.
But I sit
How long, Lord? How long?
Aftermath – a poem
The surf roars this morning.
It’s showing off. Reminding the world of the power of nature.
The power to disrupt lives.
To take lives.
The kids arrived home from school gone 10 o’clock last night. Every road had been cut. But they were safe.
Not every child could say that.
sitting vigils over empty houses
had cried with relief
Loved ones home, safe.
But not every parent made it home safe last night.
Morning sun brings answers
There is dryness. Warmth. Work to do, repairs to make.
But not everyone will see the sun today. Not everyone will help with the work.
And the distant surf is roaring this morning. Boasting of the power of nature
to disrupt lives.
To take lives.
I can hear it.
Amidst the noise, the surf.