‘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.