Mitigation
Fault Line
We plant in the path of the storm
not because we are foolish,
but because we remember
the storm has a memory too.
Preparedness
Map Drawer
The roads are drawn by hand.
One leads to the high school gym.
One to my sister’s house.
One is just marked: wait.
Response
Threshold
The wind took the door first.
Then it stepped into the kitchen
like it lived here.
Recovery
Window Box
We planted marigolds in the broken planter.
The rain was soft this time.
A neighbor waved.
It felt like applause.
Ongoing Mitigation
Floodplain
We could have left,
but we stayed and raised the house
by six cinder blocks.
We measure hope in inches now.
Mitigation
The Engineer’s Mother
He builds the levee higher
because she taught him
to hem pants for floods
and tuck away fear.
Preparedness
Checklist
I packed the dog’s leash
and the baby’s book
and the letter I never mailed.
I didn’t forget the flashlight.
Response
Triage
Her wrist is bleeding.
His leg is broken.
My hands are steady.
No time to wonder why.
Recovery
Hammer Sound
It echoed across the street—
not a siren,
not a scream,
just the sound of a nail becoming shelter.
Ongoing Mitigation
Shell Growth
The mollusk rebuilds
the parts that cracked.
Not back to perfect—
back to strong.
Mitigation
Before
This is the part of the movie
where nothing happens—
just wind checking the locks
and grandmothers checking the sky.
Preparedness
Drill
We walk in a line,
shoes quiet,
heads turned toward the exits
we used to ignore.
Response
Makeshift
We used a plastic lid for a paddle.
We used hope for a boat.
We used the last signal bar
to text: “Come.”
Recovery
Laundry Day
The clothesline snapped in the storm.
We tied it back with rope.
Today the sheets smell like sun again.
We are home.
Ongoing Mitigation
Cache
In the attic:
solar batteries, bandages, books,
and a letter addressed
to the next person who lives here.
Mitigation
Build Code
The walls are thicker now.
The roof, tied down with memory.
Every bolt is a bet
against the future we already met.
Preparedness
Frequency
The siren crackles out of static.
Someone’s voice says
“This is only a test.”
We all listen harder.
Response
Blackout
For a moment, we were quiet.
The sirens had passed.
The wind was somewhere else.
Then the candle spoke.
Recovery
Chair Legs
We found them in the attic—
the old legs, the cushions.
We put it back together.
Then we sat down and told the truth.
Ongoing Mitigation
Rewired
The storm taught us which wires mattered.
Now, the lights go out
and come back on
in all the right rooms.
Mitigation
Underground Lanterns
They laugh at us for storing light
until the darkness comes.
Then they ask
where we keep the matches.
Preparedness
Uniform
They gave us vests
with reflective stripes
and said we’d know what to do
when the sky turns loud.
Response
Responder
He called me ma’am.
He carried my dog.
He looked seventeen.
He was.
Recovery
Open Again
The store lights flickered on.
Someone swept the sidewalk.
The bread wasn’t perfect,
but it was there.
Ongoing Mitigation
Signal
It circles above us—
the satellite,
recording every gust
so we’ll know the name of the next one.