Hurricane Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

The streets are deserted now,
The air is still.
(Second swath one hundred eighty to two hundred miles per hour)

How strong?
(All arrows point North by Northwest)

I see a bus way in the distance and begin to walk toward it.
Brace yourself, brace yourself.
(Another swath – one hundred eighty to two hundred miles
per hour peak wind)

Will it be strong enough to ease my pain?
(All arrows point west by Northwest)
(The region is covered with f1 damage)

The bus is here now and I board it.
(A structure on the northwest corner
is the most vulnerable.
Most vulnerable of all are buildings with garages facing the wind)

The stronger the wind begins to roar, the more my hope arises.
Would the physical destruction be vast enough
to touch that cold hard center and bring some relief?

People scrambling for their food, their place to sleep
with their loved ones.
I watch as if from another world.
This means nothing to me.

What do I care about that day?
Nothing seems to matter.
All people seem so far away
And death or life are as a charade.

Come, break the sky, and break the tree.
I'm cold, I cannot feel a thing.
(Two other swaths in the second wind attack the area)

Old people are sitting lined up at a long thin table
Talking of Ukraine and eating macaroni.
(This region is already being smashed by first wind swaths
Coming from the Southeast)

I can't feel a thing.
(These second blasts cause huge destruction)

We are on the stone floor, huddled together..
The toilet does not flush.
(The location of a building is of crucial importance.
A drastic change in wind direction occurs in the path of the eye)

Why do they want water?
(Miniswirls along with microbursts contribute to the chaos)

They cry out for food.
The ancient, shaky, wheelchair bound woman
With drooling lips is alive.
I am dead.