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
I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York.
My goal is to create and share poetry with others
who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve
in you, and feel your sparks as well.
Did she die because of all the devastation?
I don’t see it that way, but who knows?
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.
Thanks, Sherry. It is a terrifying prospect to consider. I don’t even know what I would grab first.
Your poem dances wonderfully with the image Sara!
Oh, that hits. Glad the letters were saved!
Poignant and bittersweet Sara — excellent perspective!
Sad yet sweet that he saved what was the most important to him.