After Math

by Nancy Mills

Morning breaks and my nose fills
with the stench of earth
torn up and laid out
on a rough track

Last night
out of darkness came
a force that broke
trees like matchwood.
Spiky stumps. Sky
now such an innocent blue.

Morning breaks secrets
from behind closed doors.
Bits and pieces
trashed in a yard.

Morning breaks people
with next to nothing.

Nancy Mills is a retired Episcopal priest and painter who writes poetry to express things beyond words. Not so much sermons as brief notes taken along the way home.

About After Math—This poem was written in response to my memory of a nearby tornado. It asks the question: Why do catastrophes happen to the poorest and least prepared?