Hurricane

This [storm of 1846] was the most destructive of any that has ever visited these latitudes.

─ Stephen Mallory, Collector of Customs, Key West, Florida, writing of the year when Barbara Mabrity was principle keeper of Key West Light.

Hurricane! An iguana sunning on a rock senses it first,

the water in my storm-glass plunging, plunging,

and I invite friends into the safety of my light tower

as a black sea surges, waves thunder ashore,

the water in my storm glass, plunging, plunging,

I promise: She’s a survivor, this brickwork tower,

the sea surging, steeple-high waves thundering toward us,

the wind around us roaring like a fire gone wild.

She’s outlasted three hurricanes, this brickwork tower!

I promise, as the schooner Belle splinters across a reef;

the wind-rattled tower shakes like a giant’s toy

and banyan trees, storm-flung against the tower stick fast.

Four schooners sink, bottoms up, while inside the tower

a mother cries, pressing her baby against her chest.

Chickens storm-flung against the tower stick fast

and little Mariann sucks her thumb & whimpers.

Pinch that baby’s cheek, a mother cries. My God, is she all right?

The tower quiets in the hurricane’s eye, growls at wind’s return

as a mother pulls her child hard against her hip & whimpers,

It’s not possible. Stone, brick and sand yield to waves crash,

the tower groans as with my pain as it’s dragged out to sea.

Why did I survive? An Iguana sunning on a rock had sensed it first.

White-sand beach summons me to the spot where the light once stood─

I invited my friends into the safety of my tower.