I.

Ode to the Scourge

Consider your death toll: 6,300
Consider the winds of 195 miles
Reserved for Bernouli’s crafts and
Other airborne things—the earth bound?
Doomed.
Consider the wreckage, ruin
The damage estimating 3 Billion USD
The barong tagalog, Maria Clara
Gowns mobilized to raise funds.
We cannot raise the dead or almost dead
From grief and razed houses, huts, or find
The hundreds missing.
Pacific typhoon, we revere you and
Your Category 5.
Your low pressure, fatal landfall and your
Seven days of destruction, like
Genesis, in reverse.
Was there light, after your dark?
Was there life, after your plague?
Was there shelter, safety, arroz caldo
On the stove, and children with shoes on
Ever after Haiyan?
Ever after the scourge.
O winds, blow heaven on earth
As we forgive those who trespass
Against us.
We, the man and beasts left behind.

II.

I seek you, God.  Everywhere.
And Everywhere, I see you.
You are nestled in the shell of a mollusk
You are in the food to eat
The water that is safe to drink.
You are blisters on hard, dry feet.
I see you in the vast countries of sand
And in your reclaimed wilderness,
And in the peaceful eyes of survivors
Who look out but see
No houses standing.
You are in the unmourned, missing dead
You are in the billions of dollars
The homeland does not have
You are in the global wire transfers and
The balikbayan boxes from Los Angeles,
New York, and anywhere that nurses
Work the midnight shift until sunrise.
God, you are in the heart of Yolanda
And you give us wings of change
Sankofa, the Phoenix.
Bayan ko, Apo ko
Mabuhay.

III.

I was totally born here, in Brooklyn, actually.  I come from a good family.  My Dad is a doctor, mom a nurse.  They worked hard to provide the best life they could for us.  They worked hard for the dream.

In 2003 my parents decided to buy a beach house. In New Jersey-- Long Beach Island.  A little random, being that LBI is home to very conservative cop-and-firefighter type Italian families, but still, part of the American dream, right?  A beach house with a kitchen and a fridge and a bed for each one of the kids.  We steamed crabs, Filipino style, in huge vats on the stove, stinking up the condo, not caring.

“Are you Chinese?”
(No, we’re Filipino)

On October 22, Superstorm Sandy hit our town, Spray Beach.  It hit Beach Haven, Loveladies, Barnegat—all of Long Beach Island. Rain flooded in angry rivers, down the Boulevard.  The ferris wheel in the amusement park was submerged like a sunken cake topper.  There was a pond of brown sludgy water where our living room floor used to be.

People walked to the only place still open for food, called Village Pizza.  They worked around the clock to save their ovens, and stay within food service code.  Neighbors bonded, ate, cried, shook their hands at the heavens.  Team LBI would survive, dammit.  Our contractors, our tax payer dollars, our good neighbors would save us.  LBI strong, and all that.  Our condo board called us with recommended and bonded workers, but we used our own.

“Who are they?”
(They are ours)

“Who are you to be different?”
(We are different)

A year later, in November, when Hurricane Haiyan struck, I saw the cascading thermal images on television comparing the storms. Category 3 (Sandy) Category 5 (Haiyan).  Devastating is devastating.  Destruction is destruction. But the Philippines was lost.  It was nothing but death.

I wanted to run through the streets of our sleepy beach village and scream to the good people of Jersey, “Are you watching? This is who we are.  We will save our houses, but who will save their souls?”

IV.

Certainly in the oceans
Certainly in the mountains
Certainly, as you understand him,
There is a higher power.

Certainly in the hundreds of years
We have been humans together
Certainly in the blood of a newborn baby
There is a life force.

Certainly as we burn the earth
Certainly as we save the dying
Certainly as we lie, cheat and steal
Certainly as we forgive

Certainly as there is rapture
There is a time left for us
In the wilderness, to be saved
To be lifted up.