A Poem for the Start of Hurricane Season

Hurricane Force

You never forget your first hurricane

Photo by Van Williams on Unsplash

Outside, the wind rages
striking fists of oranges
and pinecones
against shuddering
shutters, shaking shingles.

It doesn’t howl, or whine,
or wail — that pitch reserved
for lesser storms, spring
torrents full of sound and light,
fast floods of impotent drama.

The “Killer Pine” stands strong
and tall and deadly, swaying
with the music of the wind.
Lesser siblings — pine, oak, sweetgum — crack!
Limbs fly, seeking glass to break,

A car, a house to crush.
Stones strike like bullets,
unseen, deadly — sharp weapons loosed
in the steady onslaught
of an angry wind.

All who do not break must bend
for this is no caress,
no gentle breeze -
this force of will, unstoppable,
that rages on past dawn.