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Cameron Smith / Her Campus

The Storm

Our homes were destroyed with the howling wind. 

The tides gnashed at our town, teeth ripping away 

our childhood memories, our children’s memories skinned. 

The town diner, the elementary school, the bookstore with the display 

of books outside, gone. The rain spat from the shore, 

Banging on our door, violently shaking the windows. 

The trees swung aggressively until it uprooted and soared 

in the air, hitting Roberto’s house. As the wind blows, 

The wood creaks and the building leans forward, 

Until the house becomes tired and lays down for slumber.

The water runs to meet us in our homes, the ink words

Within a makeshift home library soaks, blurring the page number.

But the wind quiets, the water makes its way back home. 

A bluebird appears on a branch for a second before deciding to roam. 


Syd Abad

Wells '22

“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” ― Audre Lorde, A Burst of Light
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