The Hurricane Party by Theresa C. Newbill
We prayed for the terrible affliction
to pass and listened to the sound
of rushing water from lowered
windows, applauding wildly at the fear.
Stray cats prowled the village at night
crying on the outskirts of a bereaved
horizon where the sky wore the face
of a tragic mask.
The ancient liquid swells
transformed into a theater of
crashing waves that rose high among
the audience's seats with great ingenuity.
Uncritical eyes cast their glances
at the thrilling and pleasurable scene
hanging on the cheek of darkness,
hushed by the power of Nature's wrath.
She danced with the vanquished Kings
acting purely on impulse before turning
into habitual coldness as the dramatic show
curtained off.
Beyond the day and the hours are the
remains of a rehearsal that temporarily
averted tragedy. Surely next time we
will be given several weeks' warning.
I've always had blind faith in the future.
