when earth exhales
we inhale, hold our breath
as that great turbine of wind
rolls over us
three hours we sit
nursing the rising wind
the power goes out
the TV light extinguished
through the window
trees gyrate
wailing to the wind’s howl
fascinated in devilish thrall
darkness lopes across the void
of sea in tormented uncertainty
stark-eyed watchfulness
grips us and curiosity listens
6 am we look at one another
gather the bedclothes
move pillows doona
dog into the bathroom
you have the spot by the loo
I have the towel racks
wind thrashes, sky lightens
to grey, the air a roaring
bulldozer in the room
night’s strideawash, flecked
with salt I sit in the door jamb
you are videoing
the dawn of a new world
a world of strewn trees
matted leaf torn rooves
metal dress flapping
the dog sleeps on, curled into her
own tight dream 7.30 am
wind turns, limbs snap in fright
lying down for the wind no longer works
light dribbles in, time drags by
I’m reading poetry the space
before me a thinking space
outside a tree branch wings
past the window its leaves
slashing the sky, inside a strange
equilibrium holds me still
in a state of cosmic acceptance
corrugated roof
slams into the garage wall
guttering spills its contents
the down pipe is down
the path spattered confettied
in the pall of wind we poke
our heads into the air
trepidation stalls our steps
Yasi and Cassowary, Photo by Susan Hawthorne
Living in the tropics means that you can never forget the cycle of the year. In the southern hemisphere these are the months of the cyclone. We watch the skies, sniff the air and check the weather apps. It can extend anywhere from mid-December to May, but January, February and March are the most likely months. Since living in the tropics (2005 to now) I have been through two Category-5 cyclones (that is stronger winds than Katrina). On the plus side, the rainforest smiles when the rains come. Cyclones rattle the vines off trees, break branches, sometimes fell trees, and that creates light for the understory to grow. At this time of year, you can almost see the grass grow. The cassowary like the fruit of the black bean tree which is in fruit now as is the white apple. Two cyclones have already been called for the year, but so far, they have fizzed. We wait and see what comes.
This poem is from Earth’s Breath (2009) shortlisted for the 2010 Judith Wright Poetry Prize.
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