Tuesday, December 11, 2012
The earth roared, jack-hammered
bucked like a brahma bull
at a rodeo.
After, we waded through a field of shards
found open space, moved the glass-grazed car
away from the bruised and broken building.
During that afternoon of terra not-so-firmer
we stood around, shivered, hugged the ground
comforted those from the third floor
whose sky had fallen on their heads.
We remarked on a distant tower, three sheets
to no wind, shedding bricks each new tremor
saw plate glass bow and flex, lights oscillate
in a luxury-car showroom, watched would-be
CBD traffic becalm itself in a sea of sirens.
I remember now a grey sky
the absence of cell phone sounds
how no birds sang.
Poems from my Canterbury quakes experiences are starting to insist on air-time. This one was written last month.
Visit Tuesday Poem for more poems this week.
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