After the Storm

They don't tell you when you're gearing up for the big one

that there won't be a thing to do afterward.

I buried my valuables and hunkered down for judgment day

on their well worn advice.

It was hard without a husband, but I managed.

But now there's not a thing to do but sit

atop the knotted metal and boards shaped new

by wind stronger than an I had ever seen.

All that was of use to me is now trapped under dirt

and a pile that had been my equipment

and our home.

I sit and stare at the new shapes the wind made from hearth and earth.

Then it occurs to me:

They're going to find his body.

When I buried my valuables, I forgot to bury him deep.

It's a damn shame.

It's a shame about Jill, but no one liked how she always talked about herself, anyway.

Evidence of Fire

In the morning, there are tracks and evidence of fire, though I slept the whole night through. The cold of the evening before has dissipated with the dark, yet the pump will not bring up water. I repeat the motion again and again. None comes.

I wander back to my blanket, but feel no warmth in its embrace. There are no ashes left sleeping in the fire. I swirl the dead things awhile, uncovering something below. It is charred and decorated with crude tool marks. I lift it slowly, uncovering more in the action: bones picked clean.