To find a teacup that isn’t broken
In the rubble of the kitchen
Is the only gift the tornado left-
But where is the shelf that held it.
The Goblets Gramma left to me-
The one bit of luxury in my small world
Of Walmart bargain furnishings-
The cabinet gone, no shards of glass
To gather up and weep on.
All that’s left is broken bits
Of nothing that we can’t replace
But will be forced to do without
For the upcoming future.
All the photos, too, are gone
Scattered over other people’s
Versions of disaster,
Face down in the mud created
By the rain that marked finale.
In the silence broken only
By the creaking of our fractured walls
I look around at those I love,
All standing safe, and I’m content.
Mother Nature has had her say
And we were forced to listen.