The promises we make.

You hunker down in the dark, in your favorite
cradle, for the long night,
forgoing your desk,  the cushioned chair and
the outside world at your fingertips.

The wind and rain threaten to bury you,
reduce everything to dust:
Your house, your car, all possessions.

You try to remember the last storm,
what you did
or didn't do
to prepare for it,
to prepare of all the storms
in your days.


Each bump, each object that batters your roof becomes a promise you make: this will not happen to you again.