The Morning After

The morning after the storm
we went out and cleaned up the sidewalks.
Twigs and leaves everywhere,
a few fallen branches.

The morning after the storm
we peered cautiously into familiar faces
as if people we knew and loved
were replaced by strangers.

The morning after the storm
we began to reckon up the damage
knowing it would take years
to count the costs.

It’s the morning after the storm.
I’m still here. Are you?

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