The Backside
A hundred stories blew right by
Unseen by the naked eye, a hundred and one
If you count the one so wind-soaked, water-logged and beat down
There is nothing left to tell
Shreds of truth washed out to sea
Particles of memory swept up in the counter-current backside of the beast
A hundred years from now
Someone will dredge it up, tell it to a crowd of hungry men, women and children
Hovered on the edge of their seats to know about the day the wind raged
Again
History, a fan of repeating herself
At the hair salon
She said the waiting was the hardest part of all
Tell me your story
I’m beginning to try to listen again
Forgetting doesn’t help remembering
Warnings came from somewhere down the coast, farther south
Watch out for the backside,
The tail end
Every cliche, metaphor
You’ve heard them all
Listen up, for once, to talk of eyes and calm
While we wept for Haiti
I wept over Vascular Dementia, ALS and Cholera, hunger and disease
And Haiti some more
The Shirley May, The Mary Margaret and God’s Grace
They made it through, tethered to a wide and weary oak
Simple solutions mock me
Anticipating, we know too much of what we do not know
Wringing our hands over unknown outcomes
And then the shaming began
For the stayers and the ride-it-outers
Who know the nuances of wind and tide
But are certain of not one thing
The quiet dark of the blind preparation
Is a quiet we never knew
Run a bunch of models
Focus on the European One
Fine lines wear the well-honed edge of a butcher’s knife
Lord have mercy plays on rewind and repeat
In sharp contrast
The Weather Channel, bless its heart
I thought I’d die if I heard one more warning of how bleak my future looked
When the wind blows
Echoes from my childhood
We are slowly prepared by nursery rhymes
For what’s ahead
When the wind blew
At hurricane force
I sat on my backside
Resting up
No one named the raging storm in my mother’s brain
After one of the gospel writers
There is still a storm that’s raging
Though not at sea
For me
Waiting is the hardest part
‘
Thank you for the privilege of seeing the hurricane through your eyes. You have such a courageous sensitivity to the range of emotions. Beautiful.