Let’s hope Cape Breton wasn’t kidding
when they said we could move there
from this side if things got crazy scary.
The ones who shout hardest hardly
ever have it right, since such small
gods surge from somewhere far
back in the night. Light fills space
as it can. Dark does the same,
and the space is a brain. Attackers
were attacked, so now their best
work is done behind walls where
whoever they ruin won’t clutter up
the compound. They can’t see what
runs loose in the reaping, or that
meanness won’t mend them.
Neither will screaming. An entire country
standing up in arms out in the street,
straight in the path of the storm.
Laurinda Lind lives in New York’s North Country. Her poems have appeared in numerous literary and poetry publications. In 2018, she won first place in both the Keats-Shelley Prize for adult poetry and the New York State Fair poetry competition.