Marching into Ian
many have told me
that in America
the art of making a living
is normally so all-consuming
that there is zero energy
left to master your life.
but when an anticipated CAT 5
hurricane is barreling through Cuba
and headed for my state,
this idea crumbles and suddenly
and I find myself
at the local market grabbing any
water I can find, batteries, canned corn,
flashlights, and gummy bears (for the kids)
in preparation for the beast.
the market is turned over
and alongside the panic energy filling the aisles,
I also picked up a subtle paradoxical force:
people are scared but also more human.
the icy clench in the soul with the impending
storm drawing near, I believe, is revealing
that our feet have been planted in false ground
and what lies before us is something we have
no language for.
when the handles of materialism are severed,
by choice or by force,
our eyes become clear and maybe for the first time ever,
we see that our
brothers and sisters,
mothers and fathers,
aunts and uncles,
sons and daughters,
strangers and friends
all want and need the same thing.
under threat, we give ourselves to each other, and at the same time,
to the silent future coming at as.