it was cold and dark
it seemed as if the blackout was beyond the market square
so solemnly quiet.
I thought none of the neighbors were home
I couldn't see candles or flashlights there,
I forgot their houses were gone.
It's all so strange and eerie
there's a boat on top of city hall
and no one is answering their phone
there's no one here but me,
and the sudden helicopters which come and go.
First I felt the earthquake
it rattled my bones and my faith
then it brought me to my knees
then the water came rushing in.
I saw the waves crashing through the streets,
dragging cars and boats and barges to the other end of town
dogs and cats and people,
in the biggest human blender I've ever seen before.
I'm so glad I stayed home that day
to think I used to complain about living on the 3rd floor
haven't stopped crying since then
(I know it isn't helping)
but by now most of the water is gone anyway.
There's flotsam and jetsam everywhere
boards and wood and cars and ships and bodies
a dishwasher, debris, a couple of toilets and a kitchen sink
all piled up and torn to pieces
it's like a morgue and a town hit by a tornado
all in a cesspool, roughly the size of hell
Neighbors, friends and fathers
daughters, sons and mothers
priests and prostitutes
whores and politicians
thieves and lawyers
young and old
gays and lesbians
foreigners and journalists
mates and captains
and many fishermen
unrecognizable and dead.
But I survived
I have 3 bottles of water
and a little bit of rice
flashlight, batteries, a radio
and a chocolate bar
I heard a man in the helicopter
shouting on a megaphone
it seems a reactor is exposed
and I must stay inside
and so it's plastic bags
scissors and duct tape
I cry for the one I love
in an ocean of dead widows
please excuse me
I must seal my house
and this is the last window...
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