American Life in poetry

Our species has developed monstrous weapons that can kill not only all of us, but everything else on the planet. Yet when the wind rises, we run for cover, as we have done for as long as we’ve been on this earth.

And weather stories? We tell them in the same way our ancestors related encounters with fearsome dragons.

This poem by Minnesota poet Warren Woessner honors the tradition by sharing an experience with a hurricane.

Alberto

When the wind clipped

the whitecaps, and the flags

came down before they shredded,

we knew it was no nor’easter.

The Blue Nose ferry stayed

on course, west out of Yarmouth,

while 100 miles of fog

on the Bay blew away.

The Captain let us stand

on the starboard bridge

and scan a jagged range.

Shearwaters skimmed the peaks

while storm petrels hunted valleys

that slowly filled with gold.

Alberto blew out in the Atlantic.

We came back to earth

that for days might tip and sway

and cast us back to sea.