*I’m sorry I took so long between posts. I’ve been without power for a week. This poem might give you a glimpse into how I feel about this.

At night she attacks
Spilling water over the city’s shore
The water rises over cars, paths,
And everything more.

Over the Atlantic—near the equator
She was born like anyone else.
And bestowed the name Sandy–
With a choice of smooth or coarse.

She chose coarse.
And I can only imagine “Why?”
Merely to shout her name
Upon the infinite sky?

Or…does she express pain
With a perturbed mother’s call?
Has she lost El Nino?
Somewhere in the squall.

Why then does she terrify the kid down the hall,
Whose voice echoes powerless
Like the ambient light of “exit”
That paints us red and garish?

Sandy keeps us in the dark…

Outside my window
The clouds define
A tower not often ominous,
But now castle-like in profile line.

The structure stands solid
Against the lower climbs
And swaying trees–
Like a relic of our times.

If Sandy destroys us,
The tower will be the marker of our tomb.
If she takes that down,
There’s unending doom.

If Sandy takes me in her cold embrace
And out where debris is swarming,
I’ll blame those who came before me
Who didn’t believe in global warming.

And next year she’ll be back–
New name, worse temper.
The city better be prepared
For another natural disaster.

– Alex Schattner (11/1/12)

Tags: alex schattner, america, american folktales, art, storm, belief, confidence, folktale, inspiration, lesson, moral, poem, poetry, value, wisdom, hurricane sandy, sandy, frankenstorm