Vendor Poetry

The Question

JEN A.

I guess I’m hanging in

It missed us by about 100 yards

I went out on the balcony that night

To look up at the blackened sky

And saw one edge of the

Violently whirling white cloud

Throwing out sparks of light

And large dark fragments of debris

The flagpole out front dipped so

I thought it would be pulled

Right out of the ground

But it held A

few days later I

followed its path D

own Jefferson to the grocery store

To take stock of what was scarred

Or missing

I wished I had worn my heavy boots

To better navigate the fallen trees

And shards of glass, roofing and

Twisted metal W

hat lashed my heart the most

Was the scene at the small park

Where the children had laughed and played

All the beautiful shade trees were felled

Their massive roots standing straight up

As though searching for one another

Yearning to touch as they had for decades

Far underground

The ancient red brick structures

That I often took my bearings by

Majestic monuments to bygone days W

ere blown to smithereens

The bricks now mere litter in the streets

Like Dresden after the bombing

Nashville’s new version of ‘little boxes’

The pox of those dull featureless

Apartment blocks that anymore seem to

Spring from the earth like dandelions

Appeared for the most part unscathed

Some blown out windows

Paltry landscaping unearthed

You know I once went to a small gathering

To hear Malvina Reynolds sing

I took the children and I

think I was pregnant with Eli at the time

She strummed her guitar and

We sang ‘Little Boxes’

The children knew all the words

We were all having such a merry time

Until she stopped

And called me out in no uncertain terms

For having had the children S

he said I had wasted my talent

That I could have done more with my life...

I’m sorry...

What was the question?