The tremors are the earmark -
The adrenaline -
Tsunami following
And there is no stopping it
Once the first wave makes its crest.

Where all that water comes from,
She's never certain.
But whole villages are wiped out,
Starting first with her very own home;
Friends fleeing in all directions
While the water threatens even the littlest ones,
Even the littlest ones.

You would think with a shining sun
And a cool breeze,
The actual prospect of danger would be thin.
But the waters are thick
Of swells and more where that came from,
The shrieking quickly hushed by
The dull roar of that perilous deluge.

And when she is silenced at last
Comes the lament
Of one pitiful woman
Who cannot quell her own power

But for the mountains,
Who have been domesticated by the
Stripping of timber
And greenhouse gases,
Laid bare in humiliation.
Look at what’s been done
That cannot be restored.

06/20/2008

Author's Note: Metaphors for the rage in a woman, and the man (mountain) who, once upon a time, could stop her, but is now stripped bare of his power by her sharp tongue and the ugly face of anger.

Posted on 06/20/2008
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie