February’s poem…a few days late.

After the Storm

I remember
(after the storm )
how the hinges creaked
on the heavy cellar door
and the rough wood scraped
across the palms of my hands

I remember
how the sky was grey
and how much of it I could see
now that the trees
were twisted into splinters
and blown away.

I remember
how we laid
a bright blue tarp
over the pile of my tangled home
like a quilt over a corpse
before they take her away.

I remember
how I sat on the front steps
(to nowhere, now)
scraped the mud from my shoes
and wondered if
tomorrow even mattered.