We are an archipelago of grief.

Islands whose shores face the eye of the storm.
Winds that we could see, sprays of lashing white.
Quietly steeling ourselves for wet slaps.
The aftermath of body count, debris.
Number of deaths and number of missing.
Every voice we hear is an elegy.

          *

Every voice we hear is an elegy.

A man roams the street, looking for his wife.
She is floating, adrift in the river.
Number of deaths and number of missing.
It will be days before her body is found.
Meanwhile, he hobbles and calls out her name.
The sky is indifferent to his pleas.

          *

The sky is indifferent to his pleas.

The trees are uprooted and shorn of leaves.
The aftermath of body count, debris.
The presence of light suddenly startling.
A chopper descends, touches down on mud.
Relief goods. Provisions. Tents. Cameras.
They say that we are strong and resilient.

          *

They say that we are strong and resilient.

And we ask ourselves if indeed we are.
We are broken apart, broken open.
A man roams the street, looking for his wife.
The presence of light suddenly startling.
Every voice we hear is an elegy.
We are an archipelago of grief.