Waiting for the typhoon

Wait, that is all we can do, nothing else,
And preparations. we must see to them –
Flashlights, enough food for two or three days,
Whatever we can eat out of the can
For there might be no way to build a fire,
Somewhere, always the memory falls short
When called upon in an emergency,
Perhaps there must be back of the book shelves
The little radio, my gift to myself
Because its sound is bigger than its size,
Its minuscule batteries notwithstanding,
I would need this to keep track of events
Wherever in the dark we would be huddled
Breathing each other’s breath, sharing one fear.
And of course windows must be tightly boarded,
Like arms, the window shutters must be crossed
And held against the raping wind’s compulsion.
On standby, just in case, a shoulder bag
Stuffed with a change of clothes and medicines,
Beside it crouching like a faithful pet
Is the hope, ears alert to the Divine,
For a last-minute message of reversal.

Which is perhaps the reason why we wait
As though for something that will not arrive.
After we have done with the preparations,
Which can be endless, because always
Something is ever missing and must be
Included –  shoes, for instance, the new pair,
Although the little bag is close to bursting –
And if not Space thanks to Time for the point
Of stopping, coinciding with fatigue
And the need just to be still and collected,
And go about as if there were no storm–
Feed Christmas Eve, our patient Doberman,
Have coffee, listen to Bach’s cello suites,
Read, pray the Rosary, and check appointments,
Next week’s, of course, to which those of today
Have been joined, those that survive cancellation
By violence, the violence of the storm.

There’s a typhoon, the hourly news tells us,
Increasingly whirling towards the land,
Its angry winds howl like a pack of wolves,
To which we have to close our doors and windows,
And we must stay beyond reach of the sea.
Already skies lose light and hang like smoke,
But still there’s peace, and words are kind,
Distilled into their essence, which is silence,
Which is of prayer as well, and that of waiting.