Leveler Poetry Journal
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The first time it happened was Day 2 of the hurricane.

I listened to the wind. It was filled with screams.


I crawled into bed calculating the distance

Between our house and the tree across the street.


I pulled the blanket to my neck, fingers curled over the edge,

But they weren’t my own.


My husband was asleep and I was alone

With one of them.


My head was in its mouth.

Hot and cold and black.


I kept my eyes open.

Its body swayed.


It became a kind of sleep,

The inside of the spirit.


It was a boat.

We rode the whole dark north.


The moon lit up the water

And I could see the curve


Of the glacier hooked to the sky.

Then the moon was gone and I held still.


In the morning I looked outside

And New York was underwater.

Hila Ratzabi