The thumping and darkness in the bowels of Irene sit lugubriously on the edge of serenity the pounding and the tears through all these years languishing in turpitude and solace from her knowledge unceremoniously, recklessly and without feeling while listening to her tongue lashing and harshness of her venomous and thoughtless words cracking like a whip, “do you think I’m an idiot” Not once but twice while searching through black clouds of disappointment and destitution … no rhyme…no reason.
All due to confusing north from south and east from west reality from fantasy as we all feel the sound of her thunder Irene crashes on and above the banks of New Haven, Guilford, Fairfield and the Housatonic lapping and licking at the shores while throwing her magnificent weight in her favor, and the swells explode the question, “how can she possibly know the children” Even though downgraded and ebbing the uneven strength and fortitude asks the question and all my determination fades in the wind.
Trees weakened as we begin to dig out and explore power lines and internet down, hampering communication flooded streets and nervous bridges impeached yet Irene serves notice with an ace of her own dressed in her sheer-like vest and turquoise ring her hazel eye filled with scorn and distain while brightness and candor follow her path with her feline temperament scratched and clawed the tears begin to taper amidst her howling breath. Irene begins to move northward stoically away from me.
I’m not a victim so I pick what remains of my heart and begin to reattach my churning stomach with the threads of her words of disbelief bringing the force she was most capable of exerting as the storm continues her long, unforgiven journey hatred and disdain replaced by disinterest and apathy as the breath disappears, the light becomes brighter and Hurricane Irene decides to leave Connecticut impact in place, on the broken bows of the sturdy trees perhaps she was right, after all was said and done.