Housefuls of Hope

Housefuls of Hope
(On the Japanese earthquake, March, 2011)

Lodgingly we cling to housefuls of hope, shiftingly
the road reloaded its avenue, bending the open below
the level of the sea.

We had watched clocks wonder for seconds on the wall;
cars wiggle on the their rubber in the parking lot.
We usually waited, then ate our lunches
without remark; talkingly taking our time.

But the earth erupted at sea where we blinded
and sucked the ocean unkindly toward earth’s hot core.
Strung, disrupted lungs imploded and buildings pancaked,
wrinkled hats long the sidewalk.

We had no power, no authority to stop the wave
outrunning airliners.
We had not dominion but collision as sparks flew
and went dead. Water burst and dried up. Plates crashed
and pantries emptied fastingly.

Grab the sonar, diggingly low between layers of lots,
cars, papers and bones. Find the life before the breath
is stolen in the dark.

The worst since World War II, a nation gainingly risen,
a face before the world, eyes that dance and define propriety.
A face before the world, technology’s face, a face displaced
by tears cutting the dust.

I wish I could dig with you, bloody my hands on the corners,
dryingly finding my eyes strained, reaching between parking lots
to help a package of hope out into the sun. I wish I could
cry with you, wettingly combining my tears with your own.
I wish I could wait the night, search the day, suck the air
dry of pain and fill it lovingly with propriety again.

I will wrestle for you where I can, before the merciful throne,
and give more than I can, for your children are my children,
and our children are echoing to runningly come home.