Cone of Uncertainty
A Poem Concerning Storms
I want to be the one
who can sit still
in the narrowing cone of uncertainty,
dead center,
knowing landfall might come
in the small hours,
the dark hours,
the haunting hours,
and remain serene,
hunkering down in the hallway
alone
with an ice chest of beer
and a bag of pretzels.
© John Allison Cannon
It’s hurricane season in my part of the world, and I’m thinking about storms and the many ways we might respond to coming storms. I don’t know if the speaker in the poem really wants to be “the one who can sit still.” I don’t even know if that’s always such a good idea. Is the one riding out the storm calm under pressure, a fool, or a bit of both? I suppose that depends on the storm. So much uncertainty when it comes to storms. When I started writing the poem, I thought it was about equanimity, but it took an ambiguous turn at the end. Such is life.
