Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com
STORMY NIGHT
Scattered rain was predicted.
The evening news meteorologist
calmly warned of light rain.
Instead, a wild storm came
filling the night with thunder
and meaningless blunder
as lightening broke asunder
a peaceful, if not restful, sleep.
Too wild a storm to venture out in.
A storm to set us back and shut blinds
to keep from seeing or fearing ruin.
This storm rapidly blew in
while most of us slept.
At sunrise, when I rose, I looked outside,
finally, and see the truth.
It is not what I was told, nor surmised.
The yard is battered.
its inhabitants scattered in burrows;
the garden littered and furrowed
by limbs dragged and cuffed.
The flag hangs upside down
until it touches the ground
in sacrilege and shame.
The flag holder has been pulled loose,
its screws unscrewed, its anchor
pulled apart and left hanging in dark space
through a night of constant turmoil,
leaving my flag drenched and soiled.
In morning light I could finally see
the upending of democracy,
right on my front porch
where everyone could if they would
easily see. No neighbor reported
nor interceded to fix a flag so distorted.
But, false solar lights alone
across the yard ways shone,
too low-light to assess
a flag under duress.
In morning light, in my nightgown I alight
to pull my flag up and close.
I place it upright to stand tall,
allowing the tears soaking it to fall,
that it may slowly dry out with the sky;
held by a newly installed holder,
one stronger and bolder.
I promise you this: the flag, my flag,
will soon again fly safe and free.
As will all of our beloved country.
