Tornadoes are worse at night,
when no one gives them credit –
this one a thief inscribing his name on the ground.
We know that dawn will be honest with us,
revealing judgments that heaven had planned,
but until then, the radio speculates into darkness
with words that shake against my ribcage.
For now, no one knows for sure.
A hundred flashes have hidden the stars,
and I feel the sorrow of a window that wants to break.
It seems that thunder has invited itself, pounding on doors
and waking even old men and atheists from their sleep.
Fear is an apologist, but it is silence that scares us the most,
the seconds after the paper is torn, and we are alone.
Nearly two years later, it is still difficult to write about our son, Jeremiah. For months, I could not write about his death. Then, after it became possible for me to write, I felt like anything that I wrote was far too trivial.
About a year ago, I wrote my first song about our experience and memories. Now, about two years later, I am writing my first poem. (I had tried to write one earlier, but again, it seemed too trivial.) I woke up today, a very snowy day, and was frightened by how easily I forget those lives that are so meaningful to me. I decided to write so that I could remember. I suppose it didn’t feel trivial because I was not writing for the purpose of writing a poem, but for the purpose of remembering.
This poem may evolve with time, or I may write another. In the meantime, you are welcome to read my first attempt: joeljupp.com/poetry.html