Last night. 11:48 p.m.
The RUMBLINGS of agitated skies
shook me awake.
Wind was dervishing,
torrents of water were slicing
the air, and sirens were screaming.
Not the shrill kind of sirens
that wail from fire trucks
or ambulances,
but the eerie kind,
like a bomb warning.
And I heard the voice of God.
(You might call it
a Public Address System.)
(You might call it
a Public Address System.)
He (yes, I was disappointed to
realize that It was a he) may
have been telling us to take cover,
but I couldn't understand Him
over the constant RUMBLINGS.
Maybe He was sharing with us the
meaning of life, or offering instructions
on how to become a revered teacher,
or just saying, "Hi, I love you".
But I missed it.
Those loud RUMBLINGS
rumbled between me and
the words of God.
As I stood and pondered
in our big closet... (we have
no basement for these things,
only a crawl space which I imagine
is loaded with spiders, and
I would rather die in a tornado
than live with a big, black,
hairy spider on my body),
as I stood and pondered in
our big closet, Michael stayed
in bed, on his back, beneath
windows that could blow shards
of glass all over him
should a tornado rip through
the neighborhood.
(Being from the East Coast,
he doesn't have the tornado smarts
this Kansas girl holds in her cells.)
Once in a while, he would
surface into consciousness
and I would describe the
scene out there. At one point,
he said this could be one way
to take care of the cancer.
I sat in our big closet and pondered that
until the RUMBLINGS became
rumblings.
Then I crawled into bed, and for the
second time since this diagnosis,
I felt pissed.
This time, I was pissed
at cancer.
5 comments:
Officer Friendly stayed in bed during tornado warnings. We don't have a basement either. It was his solution to his heart problem, I think. I don't blame you for your attitude toward cancer. I am not on speaking terms with it, myself.
G.G.,
I understand what you're sayin'.
Storms seems to be a muse I think. I wrote a prose poem type thingy a few weeks ago when a particular nasty storm took me to the basement (with good reason, it turns out). Several ancient oaks were toppled in our neighborhood. Being a much better writer, your prose poem here is so much better. I'm pissed at all the cancers out there that have been affecting my family and friends.
Foam, Can I come to your basement when I get scared??? I'm glad that you were in a basement as the old oaks fell. It's such a powerful sight, to see trees toppled like pencils after a storm.
Thank you for your kind words. I love that we all express in our own voices - I don't think that my prose poem is any better than yours.
I'm sorry to hear about the cancer of your family and friends. I send them many healing thoughts.
I thought you might . . .
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