Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

After the Hurricane

by Tina Kessinger

The women light the
broken house.
Candles, wine,
a séance
for what is
lost.

The old tree hovers,
long arms stripped
of lace.
Mildew scribbles
ruined walls,
roaches skitter.

A song floats
in the crooked
chandelier …
Oh my man I
love him so …

Six women, three who lost
everything, taken by
the water that came
and came.
Tonight they
drink, laugh, sing, as
raccoons chase the black cats
into empty rooms.

Yards away,
water laps the littered shore,
hushed now,
its piano whisper
wafts tenderly
through blown
out windows, tokens
for what it
took.

We are still here,
what is left of us,
summoning this
dark hemisphere,
destruction
lit with
fire
and stars.