This is the only time my Amber has ever slept through anything in her life. I’m so glad she did.
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Sleeping Through A Hurricane
.
Julie Buffaloe-Yoder
.
When you’ve got ten cents
and an empty tank of gas,
there is no Exodus
to promised lands
beyond the bending trees.
.
You nail boards over windows.
Put rags in cracks on the walls.
Fill a blue bathtub with water.
Watch the ticking yellow sky.
.
You light candles and stand
sentry beside the baby
while she sleeps sweaty
through thunder
in a wicker bassinet.
.
You hold your breath.
You see the rise and fall
of her tiny hands
curled against her chest.
.
When wind begins to spin,
oak limbs snap and fall.
Hail beats your tin roof.
The old house creaks,
trembles, shifts its weight.
.
Her face lights in flashes.
Water seeps through cracks
and rises around your feet.
.
Still, she sleeps.
.
You pick her up
and hold her high
.
as if your rod’s not bent
as if you know the way
as if your tank is full
.
and you can stop
the parting of the sea.
.
.
Quite a moving poem, Julie! Being originally from the Gulf Coast area, I know all too well the force of hurricanes, and I understand the fear and trembling of those who are forced to “ride it out,” for lack of other alternatives. Your poem is a beautifully crafted piece that resonates deeply with me.
Thank you, George! The funny thing is that I was never overly frightened of hurricanes until this one. Well, there was one that scared me when I was a kid (the paneling on the walls was literally rippling with wind), but as a little kid, I still felt somewhat secure. As a mother, I realized just how small I am:)
this is awesome.
the storm of helplessness and imminence – “ten cents / and an empty tank of gas” and “the ticking yellow sky” – is visceral.
yet looking down at the baby turns what should be fear into a kind of ferocity that i think only parents can fully understand.
weaving exodus into it is perfect. i especially love “You pick her up / and hold her high” – like a hard-luck moses – only you don’t need a rod, because she’s your rod, and any sea that wants her is going to have to get through you first.
i can see these faces in the candlelight, hear the hail, the groan of the walls, but there is a love and a strength than defies all of it, even as the water seeps in. it’s amazingly beautiful and a testament itself.
Hi, Joaquin. I was just at your place reading. Awesome poem!! Thanks so much for the kind comments and for noticing the Moses allusions. Of course, I mix them a little. Poetic license, huh? Haha! But I do appreciate all your good words.
Love it, Mom! Wish I could sleep this soundly still! Very beautiful poem. *Happy Happy!!*
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Thank you, Amber Love! And thank you for the AWESOME presents and card. You always brighten up my day in a big way:) Love, Mama
Hi Julie,
Our last major hurricane, Wilma, we thought our roof might come off, so every time the wind shifted, we put my son, then eleven, in the bathtub, with an old crib mattress we still had over the lip. Depending on the wind, we shifted him between there and the hallway, after we saw the tree in our front yard go down with a tornado like wind, and we could hear the roof tiles tumbling. Your poem captures perfectly a parent’s fears. In our case, we weren’t in an evacuation zone, so you wouldn’t think to move out- still, we wish we had with that storm.
Every line and stanza in your poem is beautifully constructed. I like the use of the second person “you” so the reader feels included in your fears as a parent. This is one of my favorite stanzas:
“You light candles and stand
sentry beside the baby
while she sleeps sweaty
through thunder
in a wicker bassinet.”
All of your details capture hurricanes, from candles to sweating because the power is out and the house is closed up with boards or shutters. I’m glad Amber slept through it. Somehow, I bet, with you standing sentinel, if she even stirred a bit, she felt safe enough to sleep.
What a beautiful and moving poem! Just when I was thinking about how strong and serious this one is, I read you tags and laughed out loud! You are so funny!
But…back to the poem. The image of you standing in that house with the water coming in while you lift the baby high is awesome. Biblical. Only instead of leaving her in the wicker basket, you lift her from the bulrushes and hold her like she is your rod – whole, not broken – powerful enough to assuage the storm. This is beautifully worded and structured with excellent choices throughout. You are always worth the visit, and I am so happy when I see you’ve posted another excellent poem!
Hi, Annie. Thank you very much for all the good words! That sounds like an ordeal you went through. I know you were terrified for the safety of your son. When you say you weren’t in an evacuation zone, I know what you mean. We have had some here that did damage to the middle of the state.
Wasn’t Wilma around ’05 or ’06? I think it was when I lived in Ohio, but I remember reading about it. It was a horrible hurricane that caused so much destruction and heartache.
Our biggest worry on the coast is usually the flooding that comes after the storm. My family home was completely destroyed from flooding in Isabel. It’s the weirdest thing to see a house with water over the windows…or places where there used to be a road covered in deep water. It was much worse for other people than it was for me, because I didn’t live there anymore.
Thanks again, Annie. I appreciate your comments very much!
Hi, Karen. HA! HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I have this little dream that Old Mistah Landlord will be cruising the internet and somehow stumble in here and see it. I know it’s a ridiculous dream….haha!
I can’t remember the pig man’s name. I honestly don’t know how he could sleep at night. He had us compile a list of damages, and he turned it into insurance and kept the money. We were too young and dumb to know to threaten him with insurance fraud.
Oh, well. Enough of my ranting:)
Thank you so much for all the kind words, Karen!
Beautiful, beautiful. I felt as if I were there with you and your daughter, while the hurricane raged and the house tilted.
I’ve never been in a hurricane, only flash floods, that can sweep away a child, bicycle or car in moments. A different flavor of terrifying.
Thank you, Terresa. I do appreciate the kind comment and your support.
Yes, a flash flood would be terrifying. Something that comes on quickly and without much notice (if any at all) would be horrible. At least we know in advance that a hurricane is coming.
Damn the landlord and bless the child.
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Hey, WM. That sounds like the name of a song. Haha! -J
I like how you weaved the biblical exodus into your piece. Beautiful word picture. I can see the lightening flashing across your baby’s face in the dark. Nice.
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Hi, Willow. Thank you very much! It’s great to see you. -Julie
The best part of the poem is the mother’s love shining through, standing guard over the sleeping baby, taking all precautions, knowing there is no way to escape the inevitable storm. I can hear the noise on the roof as I read the words. And I hear the hammering heart of a mother who will protect her child.
Thank you, Technobabe. I always appreciate your encouragement and kind words. Happy Friday to you!
beautiful poem julie. i love it all & the sly reference to moses in the bull rushes (wicker bassinet). what yv done with the stanzas is excellent.
Hi, Dan. I hope your week is going great. Woo hoo! I’m glad Moses in the bullrushes came through. I’m sure it won’t for a lot of people, but I figured the image would work even without knowing the story. Thanks so much for pointing that out!
Beautiful, but I’m so sorry your mother’s heart had to endure that. I’d love to hear the rest of the story sometime.
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Hi, Kimberli. Thank you for the good words. It may sound weird, but now I look back on those days as sweet, even the rougher times. We had everything we needed, which was each other:) Have a beautiful week! -Julie
Beautiful as always. I love the juxtaposition of the storm and the vulnerability of a baby. Speaks volumes of our ability to protect our dreams
Hello, Brig. Thank you very much!
Oh, God – how scary that must have been for you. As scary as it was, you managed to write a tender love story..truly love conquers all…even a hurricane. Gorgeous details,
“sleeps sweaty through thunder” – marvelous. I think my favorite lines are these though –
You hold your breath.
You see the rise and fall
of her tiny hands
curled against her chest.
You hold your breath…you would die to save her.
Her breath is prominent –
She breathes for both of you…she is your life.
Thank you, Kaye! You understand those mother feelings so well (why, of course). I get the biggest kick out of seeing what you and your daughter create. It is really awesome.
I also love what you say about the breath, because it’s so true:) Thanks again for your support and encouragement.
i cant wait to give you a fan update, so here i am again. ran into a man in new mexico. he has a copy of price reduced again on the dash of his truck. you have yet another fan. im too old to make computer smiley faces. just imagine me grinning.
Thank you, Dan! You are awesome. Have I told you that lately? Imagine me grinning, too. Mine is sort of a goofy grin. Hee hee.
I appreciate you telling me that. It’s so cool to know (and makes me feel good). But more than anything, I appreciate your friendship and encouragement.
Very beautiful. Such strength in your voice, lovely Julie!
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Thanks so much, Hannah. Much appreciated! It’s great to see you. -Julie
I realize that every time I comment, it’s to say how much I love — and am moved by — your work. But every time, it’s true. Trust me.
Hello, Ruth. Thank you very much. I am always happy to see you, and your comments make my day bright.
Julieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!! where are you? click your red flip flops together and come home soon.
Haha!! Dan, you have GOT to let me steal that line. I love it.
I’m sorry for the delay. It’s not intentional. Crazy life just gets in the way:) I will try real hard to put something up this week. Thank you so much for being here.
Beautiful, Julie. You transfer the tension to the reader with such stirring images like “the ticking yellow sky”. A mother drafted into service as Moses. Memorable.
Thanks, Lorenzo. It’s great to see you. I hope your vacation was a good one.