Silence Explained

***

silence

 comforts me, enfolds me

breath prayer

***

    I have been too busy to write a blog post since the storm hit almost  two weeks ago,  but I did jot down my thoughts as the days unfolded. 

    Although this has been a busy and difficult time for my family, we consider ourselves very lucky. Our children are safe and their  homes are intact. Our home is not damaged and our lives will eventually return to normal.  

   Others have not been  so lucky.   There are thousands of people who have suffered and are still suffering, devastating losses from this storm, in NY and NJ especially.

   Here are some of my random musings in the aftermath of the storm known as Sandy, more prayer than poem. 

A Direct Hit


This feels like another seismic change,
 not unlike 9-11

(thank God we are alive)

how unusual
to prioritize once one is off the grid
live wires on the ground
trees blocking the roads
communications nil,
food spoiling,
scarce gas

safety,
 check on family,
food,
fuel

(thank God for the basics)

it's weird
 hearing the helicopters every half hour or so
and seeing people walking around town,
carrying gas cans,
looking for fuel to keep a generator going

hearing sirens every few minutes,
firemen and policemen
 on the way to yet another house fire,
live wire,
crushed car, 
gas leak,

 all the while knowing
  those first responders' houses
are without power
or washed away too
and to see nurses carrying newborn babies 
down flights and flights
while breathing for them
amazing, really

(thank God for  heros)

it's strange
 to see generator cables stretched across streets

neighbors sharing power,
offering food and a bit of 'juice'
to keep the refrigerator going a few more hours, 
folks charging cells in the beauty parlor,
the beauty parlor giving free shampoos
people walking to get gas for generators
to keep each other warm
cashiers still cheerful and smiling
after days and days of non-stop work
at the only open market for miles and miles

(thank God for neighbors)

it's oddly normal 
to have a houseful of refugees

family without power,
 unable to stay in cold, lifeless houses

 sharing space with a parent and a child, 
after all these years
finding a way to share cramped space,
be patient with one another,
pitching in,
all for one and one for all

(thank God for family)

how ironic
 to meet three linemen from Missouri, 
on my way to vote in an election so divisive
one might think we were on the brink of civil war,
if one listened to the tv
or read certain political blogs,

midwesterners from red state country
 cheerfully fixing blue state power lines

a few blocks from my home, 

how neighborly of them to come so far,
and how good it is to be 'one nation'

(thank God for 'indivisible')

how sad 
to witness suffering a few miles away,

folks I meet in the supermarket and at church

now homeless, belongings destroyed

the spectre of their beloved photos and memories

at the curb
how can I help?

(thank God we can share)

how scary
  to move a 90 year old from her cold, dark house,
the only place where she is comfortable
at this time in her life,
to disrupt her forgetful brain,
knocking what little starch was left, out of her,
 then watching her sleep non-stop for three  days
wondering if the storm would kill her
as she slept in my bed

                                      (thank God for the life we have)

 how blessed 
am I to have a wonderful caregiver
to help minister to my mother
giving her the care I am not able to give
I can never repay her
for the love and kindness she showers
on my mother

(thank God for caregivers)

how bizarre
 to be dry eyed for ten days
then drive by a formerly gorgeous tree,
fractured, broken
twisted, half standing,
roots overturning the sidewalk,
 trunk grotesquely exposed,
and burst into tears.

(thank God I can plant another tree)

how amazing
to have a partner
a soulmate, a loyal friend
at my side through it all
ready for whatever I need
 with flashlight, screwdriver
 and  quiet strength

(thank God for you, my love)

how comforting,
all I have to do is
  feed the refugees,
 wash towels and dishes,
breathe.


(thank God)

Shared with RECUERDA MI CORAZON
 and HAIKU HEIGHTS where the prompt for this week is 'silence.'