Written for: Sunday Muse #220
As destruction reared its monstrous face, he grabbed the only thing left that mattered, all the letters they had exchanged. Had there been even moments to spare, he would have taken the wooden box where the letters were stored. Scents of lavender and vanilla clung to the inside. He was glad she did not live to experience this devastation. http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/
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purplepeninportland 
Did she die because of all the devastation?
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I don’t see it that way, but who knows?
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Oh this poem reflects the sudden evacuations so many are experiencing now, I would WANT to take all the books I have self published, but would not be able to. The emergency pack is already too heavy (and doesnt have anything in it I care about but we are supposed to take it.) A very relevant poem. I felt every line. It could hapen to any of us at any time, these days.
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Thanks, Sherry. It is a terrifying prospect to consider. I don’t even know what I would grab first.
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Your poem dances wonderfully with the image Sara!
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Thanks, Carrie!
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Oh, that hits. Glad the letters were saved!
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Thanks, wyndolynne!
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Poignant and bittersweet Sara — excellent perspective!
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Thanks, Rob!
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Sad yet sweet that he saved what was the most important to him.
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Thanks, Susie!
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