i.
i’m watching the back yard
dance in the winds, trees
moving their hips in a circular
motion to match the salsa
rhythms
of the wind.
it’s
seven or eight.
the light is
filtered
through dirty
dishwater clouds
and
lightning
flashes as the day darkens upon
the city.
and i with my open
window, blinds shoved upward,
am awake alone, my roommates long since sleeping,
as i watch the trees
shake
their hair and tango in
the gusts of the wind
to the music that
cannot be heard, only watched quietly
in awe
of power, and beauty.
ii.
the sky is misty, all
the water in the air
thrown by the winds
back and forth
splattering buckets against
my window
in a cycle of nature’s finest
powers of destruction
and i am watching the pines
bend down,
like supplicants
down
no vegetation untouched
by the dancing winds,
the four foot
weeds in our back yard
crushed
as
they start, and slow
bend
and blow
in the buffets
from
all sides, a
beautiful
synchronized
chaos as the trees find the
rhythm and ride,
body swaying, hips
beating a life well-
lived.
*senior thesis poem.
about, obviously enough, experiencing hurricane katrina as it bore through mobile
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