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Kin because you were the sentinel forever at my door.
You tumbled over gates and concrete walls,
unabashed bracts holding small albescent moons.
You held taut against humidity, panic.
The city braced itself for hurricanes,
battening and re-battening.
The rain an accomplice.
One storm had a two-syllable male name, creeping
up the Atlantic, parallel to us.
Satellite view like a galaxy.
We all expected a celestial pummeling.
It would angle west and fall upon us.
I drove to a park to meet a boy. I don’t remember who.
The palms seemed to bend
at the waist, fronds bowing like ladies.
The boy was a shadow,
reduced, un-menacing.
Crows staggered in black ranks,
waiting for the air’s electricity
to sink to the grass.
I belonged to those hurricanes the way you belong to thorns
along your vine.
Even the constantly windblown lighthouse
remained indifferent to the swells skirting its base,
the storm that skirted you and me.
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