We drove down to our beach and saw the lake,
an angry monster’s gnashing teeth of white.
The crashing waves took more than just a bite
of shore. They shook our calm with every break.
The mom could not continue baking cake.
Electric power blinked, blanked, and took out light.
Winds, 80 mph, caused swaths of blight.
How many weeks until the dove might make
appearance bearing olive branch? Coast-wise,
we see the devastation, and we gasp
in horror at what crucifies our eyes.
Impossible to take this in, to grasp
the nightmare. And the people agonize
while holding memories in their tight clasp.
(Petrarchan sonnet)
