After Ike

Lord, that storm was vicious. Left a swath
of damage halfway up the heart of North
America, as if a paintbrush full
of red paint swiped along the Mississippi
drowning bottom-lands and ferry towns.
Just a swipe at Nola, this time—lucky
Louisiana folks gave thanks and hunkered
down to ride it out. But Galveston...

it's like a 'dozer went through, end to end.
Where are they now, evacuees like birds
storm-scattered clear across the continent?
Their eggshell-shattered houses whisper, echo
dying wisps of hurricane-force winds:
The storm has passed. Come home. Come home. Come home.


Collection available! Knocking from Inside