the leafless trees
unburdened by sheer ferocity,
churning breath of the storm
gone now,
with only a solemn drip
trickle of water
waterfalls in places where yesterday they weren’t.
the grass
brown instead of green
will grow again,
tender blades cleaving the sun,
flowers
red hibiscus nodding in the breeze
bright purple and pink of the bougainvillea
their heads will be full.
but for now,
blossoms scattered like lives
and roofs
twisted into weapons
nails up and gleefully
waiting for unsuspecting feet.
it will take
a growing season,
pain,
before the hills
look like hills should
before the land takes on its green garments,
shakes its hems at the sea.
and then we will wait again.