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