Misconceptions of Hurricanes: A Poem

There are misconceptions from the

moment I wake up. I may appear as

the sun shows up on a given day, but

shiver in flip flops, jeans, and a thin

blue rain jacket when hurricane

winds begin to strike the coast.

I was not made one way, but

changed the moment a

hurricane struck the coast.

I know to evacuate when reporters

warn of the size and the winds’ howl.

I think I drive with rain boots on

only to recall I left them on the porch.

There are misconceptions that I

walk through storms. I often walk away

from, and not to, places that remind me

of ambulance sounds and laughter of

children younger than my son. I wear a

blue rain jacket, flip flops and jeans

when they warn of hurricane winds

about to strike the coast. But I rather

go into the mountains where leaves

have already fallen.  Because in the

mountains, I remember when you

drove me through December mist.

White clouds cast over the curves

where cars could fall off the side.

You became my other rower

when we hit the currents and 

walls of gray and white. Through

the years, some said we were

nothing more than a pair in

blue rain jackets, jeans and flip flops

when a hurricane hit the coast.

That was only the way I felt when the

doctor asked me, “Do you understand

what I’m saying to you?” I looked up,

and knew our daughter was gone.

There are misconceptions I know

the waterways and shores. If ever

I had a question for you, the answer

was in her eyes. Because she would

dress in rain boots, a thick red coat,

and grab bubbles to blow outside

before the first rains of a hurricane.