2005 Poem

by David Radavich

What can one say of
utter devastation?

You should have listened
to us beforehand.

You should have gotten out
of the way.

What you had was not
worth preserving.

Clearly God was punishing
your wickedness.

You’re better off starting anew
in a strange place.

Dry voices ringing
like cracked church-bells

except the one true
tolling:

I am sorry. I will help.

Who knows what sun feels
scorching the Sahara, swallowing
caravans of the faithful,

lava raging over mountains
with huts and villagers
like potage?

Waters taking aim
from their deadly gun-wales.

Nature does not speak
its cruelty.

Yet rebirth begins:
seeds of lodgepole pine sprouting
after fearsome fires, green

saplings only days
after black, black death.

We who speak
can articulate sympathy,
assistance, rebirth.

The hours of hammering.

Witness like owls who have taken
up a collection of eyes,

perch in
the nearest eaves

calling for our neighbors.

Published in Hurricane Blues: How Katrina and Rita Ravaged a Nation, eds. Philip C. Kolin & Susan Swartwout (2006).

David Radavich