Storms are hardliners,
shoving their way forward
through a crowd, never backing up,
their courses following the curves
computer models promise,
that is, until this one…
Harvey was a dancer.
Crossing the room of an ocean
to take on all comers,
it uncurled its fists, spinning
like a street fighter.
First, it slammed ashore
head on, surging forward
to blow through whole towns
with atmospheric rage.
Then overnight, a pause, a shift.
It stepped back into the heat
of the Gulf to think things over,
before throwing its weight
around harder, harder.
Daybreak brought another breather
as it summoned super-charged strength.
A shift east. With renewed fury,
it went in for the kill, its final assault
a flood of cruel brutality, a veritable siege—
but even then, no knock-down!
Instead, night after waist-deep night,
street after river-swollen street,
round after hope-soaked round,
the cities in its path refused
to drown, kept their heads
above water, clung to life,
and promised each other to resist this
and any bully who came to take
away their future by force.
by Anne McCrady
Audio Link (hear Anne read the poem): SoundCloud