By: Delaney Thurston
I remember a little rhyme I heard when I was young,
It said, “April showers bring May flowers”
That never applied to my town.
April brings pitch-black evenings,
Nights when ominous clouds scared away the stars,
Days that sirens meant coming home early from school
Those sirens frighten me still,
They signal long nights huddled in closets protected by stairs,
They signal mornings when I would call my friends to find out…
If they are homeless
If they are damaged
If they are dead
May brings charity work,
Days I spend cleaning up rubble
Afternoons I spend with the Red Cross
Handing out Blankets
Handing out clothes
Handing out food
After that the year continues;
The houses get rebuilt,
The damaged people heal,
But the dead ones never return…
Until come next April,
When they come to watch over their families,
Huddled in closets protected by stairs.
Cover photo by: Dottie S. (public domain)
