Woke to the wind

 

Woke to the wind roaring like the heart break of a

Ken Burns’ documentary on the dust bowl,

or no,

like the real thing

except no sand or grit seeps in at

my doors and windows

not yet anyway

 

the dog whimpers at the

howl and whoosh and rhythmic bangs

even though her hearing isn’t

what it once was

but me

my hearing’s fine and

I’m afraid too

as clouds rush past treetops

from east south east shaking

heavy trunks and big branches

this way and that way

 

when will it stop?

 

I can’t say

 

any more than I can say when

this pandemic will end

any more than I can guess

if there’s a possibility

any at all

of stumbling somehow

back into normalcy

any time soon

or just a bit later

 

any time for hugging?

or not

for safety’s sake

for flattening the curve

for that old Bee Gee’s number

 

Staying alive

Staying alive

                  - Kate Lydon Varley