Surviving Cyclone Alfred

 

‘Glad your ordeal’s over,’ 

they tell me, full of concern

for both me and my little cat. 

Some add, ‘You never needed

to suffer so much stress.’

How to explain? For me

it was necessary (even though,

I now know, much of it wasn’t)

and an adventure (even though here

nothing spectacular happened).

Poppi was extremely comfortable 

on piled blankets, enjoyed her supper, 

and is always happy near me. She did

protest the disruption – on principle – 

loudly, once, then settled and slept.

I’d set up the bathroom early. (‘Choose

your smallest room,’ officialdom said.) 

I’m old and slow, Poppi’s old and deaf.

I knew I couldn’t wait for some moment

of certainty, urgency, then start to move.

The night before, I was very scared.

It was the unknown, the waiting.

I got up, made camomile tea,

read Tarot and I Ching, glugged 

Rescue Remedy, went back to sleep.

I always need something to do.

On the night itself, there were things 

to do. I couldn’t read, instead kept watch 

on Alfred’s slow, erratic progress. ‘Keep 

the updates coming,’ family begged.

The comfortable chair soon wasn’t.

Sitting up all night in one position

was a strain on these elderly legs. 

I hauled out the shower chair, added 

a cushioning blanket, propped my feet.

By morning – with news of downgrading

to a mere ‘tropical low’ – I went to my bed.

Poppi checked the view from the windows,

then came, as usual, to supervise me. I 

disappeared into the soundest, safest sleep.

I’m too high for flooding. I have supplies.

No tree crashed on my roof. My windows 

didn’t crack. I haven’t lost power yet. 

Others are not so blessed. Alfred wasn’t

the strongest, but his reach was wide.

I hear right now an ambulance – or is it  

a fire truck? – sirening past, just down the hill.

(The firies do water rescues too.) I almost

wish I was Catholic, so I could cross myself.

Instead I send light. As I do to the whole area.

In hindsight, I see, much that I did 

was unnecessary, some of it foolish. 

But I’m proud I achieved things 

I never imagined I could, physically

and mentally – yes, ‘at my age’!

Before the event, my niece-who-is-like-

a-daughter phoned to say, ‘What an 

adventure!’ (In drought country, she 

envies us all this rain. ) Only a small 

adventure, I tell myself. But yes!  

Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings  #168: misunderstood words and misconceptions.

I wrote this poem to correct false impressions some people had about my experience of  Tropical Cyclone Alfred, based on facebook posts to keep my family and friends updated – which impressions ranged from deep sympathy for my supposed 'ordeal' to dismissing my preparations as making a ridiculous fuss.  

Truth is, most people here were flying blind, doing our best to follow advice from the authorities; the cyclone took a long time to make landfall, and its path kept altering during that time; I personally experienced only inconvenience and discomfort, but many others suffered devastating damage to their homes; there was an aftermath of widespread flooding, though thankfully very little loss of life.