its
threat
of a
downpour;
the
sun
only
returns,
blunted,
flexing
its
light
for
the
long
haul.
You
said
we’d
make
love
upon
waking
–
some
appointments
are
still
kept,
the
future
made
real
by
the
promises
we fulfil.
Otherwise,
maps
lose
their
meaning
–
the
school
you
were
told
would
be there
has
become
a reservoir.
All
I know
about
me
is
what
I once
promised
myself,
and
you,
to
believe.
And
when
everything
fails,
there
is always
that
song
on
the
radio,
news
of
something
heroic,
another
long
walk
in
the
park,
another
cigarette,
a
sudden
prayer.
That
Day
You
could be sleeping on
the beach one day
and
the ocean could sit
on you, drag you
off
to ply you with itself,
shake you up until
there
was no more struggle
left inside you.
The
fishermen who left the
shore for work
missed
the waves passing serenely
under
their boats on their
way to their village
to
put their homes out
like a fire.
No
one knows regret better
than those who saw
that
thin white line stretching
across the upper lip
of
the horizon and walked
towards it in a trance,
as
if they had never seen
anything so beautiful.
When
the waves arrived, some
say they looked
like
a row of wild, upraised
hands flying down
to
slap the beach they
had once caressed
on
calmer days, long after
the sun had slid
down
to sleep along the water's
lap.
The
tourist, who recorded
the nightmare
on
camera from his hotel
room on the top floor,
would
never forget how the
water shot – yes,
shot
– up the road and drove
a parked car into a
shop
through
its glass window, while
those who did
not
outrun the sea toppled
and were taken
along
for the interminable
ride. One of them was
thrown
up against a tree, and
a branch slipped
into
his back like a sudden
knife to spring out
from
the centre of his chest.
He took about an hour
to
die. A baby floated
unharmed on a mattress
that
washed back into her
parents’ arms.
Her
mother called it a miracle,
but said they had
lived
here their whole lives
and would not leave.
A
reporter asked the man
who had survived
when
his wife had not, Where
is your family now?
The
wrinkled fisherman looked
at her for a moment,
then
cast a wide glance at
the others around him
before
replying, We are all
family now.