Saturday, March 14, 2020

A virus in the woods

Awakened by a gust of wind
  (The bedroom door,
      Shuddering in its frame)
I sink into my husband’s arms again, and then I hear it:
The telltale gathering clatter of branches,
Grasping at the wind to ease their fall;
The slow inimitable build of sound,
And wonder — should I be leaping out of bed?
What if it falls on us?
The final crashing thump, so close; so loud,
And then he says, “I didn’t see a flash!”
“It wasn’t lightning, I reply; a tree has fallen:
I’ll go look,” and so, grabbing my headlamp,
I stumble out of bed in search of answers; reassurance;
Step out the back door, seeing nothing,
And return to bed, uneasy, then give up 
And rise again to prowl the house In search of damage,
But all our rooms are safe,
Lying quiet in the dark, untroubled by the sound,
While overhead I hear the helicopter blades,
Far louder than the tree, transporting
Some unlucky soul across the water
   To a hospital; we are safe for now,
But for how long?
The virus trembles in the woods and shadows,
A hungry ghost, seeking its next victims...

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