Our hurricane, Henri

Pandemonium poem

“I was birthed restless and elsewhere” — Patricia Smith, “Katrina.”

They swept us away, those wakeless waves

our bones caverned, bodies brittle, curved stiff

where did we start when the storm began?

‘cause yeah, we existed before he merged us into

his vortex, his entropy, his ultimate truth

our anticipated apocalypse manifest by

Henri, at me with his brackish maw

saliva drip black down his scraggly chin

full of piranhas and spinous nudibranch

when the storm’s like that, you swallow

hard, anything in sight, take it all in

like you can’t help it

He bled me shy and watered me willow

broke my fishbones and drowned my scales

where there’s a will there’s a way to mash

the senses senseless with a word or a sign

or something in between, like you always said

the only way around is through

that’s what a storm does to you

He manages to waterlog your rationale

in silences, killer comprehensive

pebble your sand with beached whales

particles of sails from shipwrecked dreams

and convince you somehow it was your doing

attempt to resurrect the ark, float above

the flood, almost flying, collective ghost

past the masses, we always softening

the blow with levitation, study

our masters with fervor, meditate

ever upwards, transcend the imminent

Henri, my first love, spinning out and in

ballerina, coughing smoke and blood

whirlwind of shark’s teeth and human jaws

I watched mesmerized, paralyzed as he

made landfall, submerging the world I once knew

in an explosive vomit of splintering vessels

Hell is empty and all the devils are here

the tempest, twister, typhoon, yet no named storm

can calm our wildest anxieties, always hitting somewhere else

someone else harder, and we may sigh in relief this once

until it hits us all the same, like the next door neighbor

of an abused woman, who becomes the victim, someday

we will invoke the names of all the perpetrators, a sacred rite, a round

Ana Bill Claudette Danny Elsa Fred Grace Henri Ida Julian Kate Larry Mindy Nicholas Odette Peter Rose Sam Teresa Victor Wanda

the 2021 list will be used again in 2027

In Brooklyn, stairs turned to natural waterfall

just behind the library. It was dark, night worthy of

a vampire, which is what this is. The Hurricane hungry

for blood, always needing more, more, like a true

westerner. Or maybe it is trying to make something

beautiful. I think we can all relate to that. We seek it out.

How to use a cone graphic

nhc.noa.gov/refresh/graphics

Note: the cone contains the probable path of the storm center but

does not show the size of the storm. Hazardous conditions

can occur outside of the cone. Collective anxiety. Fate.

These watches and warnings speak our language, comfort us, confirm

Sensitivity is required. If a name evokes too much pain

to comprehend we take that into account. Thus early retirement of

Agnes 1972 Alicia 1983 Allen 1980 Allison 2001 Andrew 1992 Anita 1977 Audrey 1957 Betsy 1965 Beulah 1967 Bob 1991 Camille 1969 Carla 1961 Carmen 1974 Carol 1954 Celia 1970 Cesar 1996 Charley 2004 Cleo 1964 Connie 1955 David 1979 Dean 2007 Dennis 2005 Diana 1990 Diane 1955 Donna 1960 Dora 1964 Dorian 2019 Edna 1954 Elena 1985 Eloise 1975 Erika 2015 Eta 2020 Fabian 2003 Felix 2007 Fifi 1974 Flora 1963 Florence 2018 Floyd 1999 Fran 1996 Frances 2004 Frederic 1979 Georges 1998 Gilbert 1988 Gloria 1985 Greta 1978 Gustav 2008 Harvey 2017 Hattie 1961 Hazel 1954 Hilda 1964 Hortense 1996 Hugo 1989 Igor 2010 Ike 2008 Inez 1966 Ingrid 2013 Ione 1955 Iota 2020 Irene 2011 Iris 2001 Irma 2017 Isabel 2003 Isidore 2002 Ivan 2004 Janet 1955 Jeanne 2004 Joan 1988 Joaquin 2015 Juan 2003 Katrina 2005 Keith 2000 Klaus 1990 Laura 2020 Lenny 1999 Lili 2002 Luis 1995 Maria 2017 Marilyn 1995 Matthew 2016 Michael 2018 Michelle 2001 Mitch 1998 Nate 2017 Noel 2007 Opal 1995 Otto 2016 Paloma 2008 Rita 2005 Roxanne 1995 Sandy 2012 Stan 2005 Tomas 2010 Wilma 2005

Cancel.

No one can predict too much, we only can

hope that plague will provoke no more, and someday

we will absent of the injuries caused by

the scramble of matter in disorganized masses

protesting the system, solar, circulatory, political

a scribble scrabble of poorly anticipated matter crushing

I was birthed restless and elsewhere

a seagull caught up in the symptom

wind speeds of 100mph, flew me

toward the coast, where I

lost my balance utterly, kamikazied

a family of beachgoers having their picnic packed for them

there may never be a cure, this storm system

a poem of repetition, a postmodern mess

copied and pasted from any source it can bite off

more than it can chew, chow down on the facts

same as the fictions, and never let go ‘til its digested

the flesh becoming new flesh, the mayhem sublime