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(reprinted from MOBIUS 2002, with the author's permission)
In Bitterroot Valley, Montana
she saw the firestorm
throwing two-hundred-foot high flames
into the air, as it savaged
one mile of forest per hour (or so
the reporters told her).
She could see the glow fifty miles away
and then on the TV news
in a rented motel room.
Later, when they let residents back
to assess the damage, she remembered
the chimney standing erect
in the blackened field,
the broken glass slivers of her life
melted and blackened,
the only remaining evidence this chimney
like a shrine to whatever hearth-gods
or demons had inspired it
--cremated remains of a lifetime of investments
and borrowed dreams, blowing carelessly
across the charred landscape.
Anne Wilson
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A walk in the garden
Right after the storm --
The air is much clearer
When the deluge moves on
Yes the deluge is over
But the damage remains
When rage is discharged
And can't be contained
Feelings accrue --
The levee gives way --
Again and again,
But what can I say?
It's one of the worst mistakes
Man or Nature makes:
Reason returns, but by
Then it's too late
Maggie Borum
Have you ever experienced any kind of natural disaster? If not, imagine what it would be like. Write a poem about your real or imagined experience. Send us your poem.
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