Ancestral Hurricane

Raindrops pelted the window
Of the abandoned shack
Like bullets,
As though they wanted
To penetrate the glass
To escape the night.

Trees leaned to the right,
Threatening to pull up
Their roots
Like cargo traveling
The Middle Passage.

The winds traveled at lightning speed
Through the air,
Creating howls to mimic
The wolves that it has sent
Scampering for cover.

Shadows of restless foliage
Are the only movement detected;
Results of the moon shining
The sun’s borrowed light onto
This strange battlefield of
Cold and warm fronts.

The inhabitants of this
Worn place lie in wait
Of the end of the storm;
They wait for the proverbial rainbow
After the 40 days and nights of
Despair.

Or 400 years of oppression.