The Vibrant Channeled Creator

Hurricane

When I was ten,
We walked barefoot
In the hurricane.
It was an August storm,
Northport, Long Island.

The water rushed
Down the storm drains
Past my toes
Scrunched to the pebbly concrete
For staying power.

Wind whipped our bodies
To and fro.
Rain rivered from nose to lip.
We panted
And climbed on
Exploring country roads
To thunder’s applause
And lightning’s strobes.

We knew no fear,
Only curiosity.

Now that I’m seventy
In August’s storm
I watch TV
And see
The bands of red, orange and yellow
Swirl across the East Coast.

I mourn
A million customers
Without power;
A million more,
Evacuated.

My feet are dry.
My face is calm.
My breathing slow.
But I am tight
With fear
For humankind:
Buffeted
Drowned
Helpless
Against the swirls
Of nature’s wrath
Across the sky.

by Jeanne Poland   8/28/11