The Day After
That afternoon, we counted one
broken window and two
good things: running water
and electricity. That evening,
a hazy yellow moon hung over
our silent city. Just hours earlier, I saw
iron roofs flying toward the horizon.
The day after, my daughter asks me
where I am going. "To work,
my baby." She only remembers a whole
day huddled in blankets, reading books
to distract ourselves from the howling outside.
The day after, the sun is so mild, the air
so soft and cool. I can't believe
we had been pummeled by wind
and rain if not for the flagpole fallen
across our building and the leaves
and branches lining the streets as we make
our way to the office.
That morning, trying to stop
my ears, I watched a video
about disappearing bees.
And now it is all
I can think about. There's
another low pressure area
coming this weekend.