OUTSIDE THE EYE
Hurricane Florence, 2018
by David Radavich
We thought it was the end.
But it was just a fever
that kept exploding, then dying,
then rising again
like a volcano emptying
guts of the world.
A triple concerto
of hate, lust, and greed.
The rains, somehow,
would not stop
would not stop.
We witnessed the hog farms
and the coal ash pits
swallowed by rising lakes,
our waste mingled
with our source of life,
toxic baptism of ourselves
in a time of repercussions.
The houses float down
like cartons, and the eyes
turn away to make more water.
If there were a prayer
we would say it, but words
too are stuck like trees
whose tops shake air
for answers.
The dirt of our politics
has not been washed away,
it has mixed with the clouds
drumming a mad dirge.
But don’t feel sorry for us.
We are the makers
who misplaced our key.
Somehow we will wade through.
Somehow we will rebuild
with new tariffed supplies
and bodies that won’t
break at night-fall.
Have mercy on the lost,
the forgotten, the already
overwhelmed who see
no sun on any horizon.
For them the boats
can’t come soon enough.
Bless their hope,
bless their compassion,
bless their human reaching
into unknown arms.