Hurricane Charlie

Hurricane Charlie

Worlds are altered rather than destroyed.-
Democritus


Every night still, I dream of the storm.
All I recall is the smell.
It is a hurricane smell,
fetid and tidal,
all the soluble salts of the world
whirled into the black-hole eye of a storm
accreting matter to his center.

The house lost power and the windows blew in.
Water surged as the roof flew away.
We moored in a tub on the second floor,
surprised by the daylight that found us alive.

Every night still, I dream of the storm.
All I recall is the smell.
It is Charlie's smell,
boiling and melting,
a debris-choked soup of dank, murky water,
plankton flourescences glowed in the dark.
His damned excresences live in my head.

Every night still, I dream of the storm.
All I recall is the smell.


Published in issue #5 of BackStreet Quarterly--Poetry from the backstreets of America.
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