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Hurricane Sara

Published in 'Til I'm Blue in the Face 2000


    Watching maps of weather
    I remember Vincent, those fingers
    of blue and yellow and darkness,
    a cumulus of passion, throat-kisses.
    What he saw in a woman
    a satellite sees in our gray skies,
    the pictures coming back to us
    as whirling circles over the ocean,
    gathering speed, breaking up

    an anchorman draws
    a line from the tropics
    up to my backyard. In Jessup
    there are miles of trailer parks
    and I wonder which homes
    will land on Elkridge, Arbutus,
    and which will fly all the way
    to New York City, clutching
    gargoyles on the Chrysler Building,

    and for how long will they hold on,
    a woman trapped in the attic,
    a man hanging out of a window,
    calling to each other, hoping.
    A tear falls away from her face.
    Maybe he tries to catch it on his tongue,
    maybe he can't reach that far.

 

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