If a particle of your observations tug at you a certain way, don't forget to write it down.
I've written several pieces of writing about my experience of Hurricane Sandy,
but none quite as poetic as this. I also wasn't writing about it to say or enforce
something else, all it is is my story of Hurricane Sandy, and all you, reader, have
to do is listen. Do you like the spacing? I did the spacing like that so it wasn't
neat, because that what the words were like, all over the place, floating in my
head. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Written By: Josie O'Grady
April 29, 2015
The day it happened was like a dream.
Sometimes I wonder if that day would have
been scarier if I had understood it when it happened.
But I didn't.
Those five days I didn't feel completely awake.
Even for the rest of that year, I don't think I understood
what had happened. It was hard to imagine my life
before Hurricane Sandy.
We left our home the night before it happened,
taking some clothes, books, and our dog with us.
As the car pulled out of our driveway, I took one
last look at my town.
It would be my last time seeing it normal for a long time.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I was sitting on my bed, many miles inland, when the
winds began to start. They were whipping, stronger than any
winds I had ever felt in my life. Rain began pelting down,
hitting the window with all the force the sky could muster.
Strangely, I wasn't scared.
Though we had only arrived the night before,
it felt like years to me.
The hours went by so slowly.
I spent most almost all my time reading
And as I sat, clutching my notebook,
words swam through my head.
When we returned home, and roads were
torn to pieces and houses were knocked over and
on their sides, I once more turned to words,
writing constantly about things that now hardly
seem like they mattered. But maybe I was
just trying to make my life normal again, in the
midst of a ruined world.
At the time, it seemed like no matter how
many words I wrote and read, my town was a broken
window that could not be fixed.
But as the year went on, the sore spot
in my heart began to heal. And now I am here,
recalling that year, those five days, without
In the end, me and my floating head of words made it through.