Poem: Severe Weather Advisory

I have been busy editing some poems to submit for a collection.  So, I thought I would post a poem that I wrote two years ago.  As you know, there is severe weather out there these days - of all sorts.

Severe Weather Advisory

Now, we emerge, breathing the deep air of survival
     in a stunning moment refracted through rain dappled windows
     bird song embellishing trees dark with damp.

I am freed from the bonds of anxiety
     that tethered me to the radio and phones and National Weather Forecast
     that kept me checking the zip, the county, the exact location
     of your campground, which was right in the path
     of the red patch moving up the pixel green
     flashing screen: tornado warning, not watch - warning.

I knew that although the afternoon
     was suddenly crystal bright here
     you were still there
     and I could not reach you with a warning – because, of course,
     you had turned off your phone for a genuine camping experience.

Not that you would have listened to me
     any more than you did
     on that bluest September morning
     when caught in a manmade storm
     I told you to run, not walk – run up to Chinatown.

Except that this time our daughter was with you
     and your paternal instincts
     are stronger than your self-protective instincts.

Even as my own father called to check up on you,
     and we took a moment to wonder
     about the tornado hitting Central Lutheran Church downtown
     at the very time over a thousand delegates of the ELCA were there.

Yes, it actually hit the steeple of the church
     and blew apart the tents.

Cradling the phone on my shoulder I googled the news
     to find the twisted tubes, upended white cloth and
     dangling steeple. 

Interesting, Dad and I thought,
     given that they were debating the sexuality question,
     specifically: can a homosexual in a committed relationship
     serve as a minister in the Lutheran church.

With a dark chuckle my father said, “maybe
     this could be seen as an act of God
     and sway the debate.”

“No way.”  I protested.  “Lutherans would never indulge
     in such mysticism.

He countered, “They better make the right decision.”
     And muttered, “the church should
     stay out of people’s sexuality.”

Meanwhile, you call, and are safe
     in a hotel in Hinckley.

The sun is still shining
     and we’ll all eat junk food in the evening’s glow, because
     who can cook after such a helluva day.

And I thought I heard something about a storm

     in New York, Manhattan to be specific,
     that had also uprooted trees.

I only listened enough to think, in passing,
     that it was a weird coincidence – God acting up again?

It all came out of nowhere and passed
     so fast, and now the sky is so fine
     just like the other time.

We better make the right decisions.
     This time.