In the wake of much upset, this morning I moved to a place that I always go to when emotions are difficult for me to handle. It's a place on the floor... cross-legged, behind pen and paper. I so love the comfort of the written word. The blank page I held in my hand brought to mind images from the tornados that tore through our city. Debris. Huge heavy slices of stuff, being puffed around like paper. It's hard to look at debris. It's difficult to comprehend. Debris is one of those words that says a lot... and yet says nothing of what it really is.
It's the roof of a house spinning airborne.
It's concrete, in freefall descents.
It's trees slamming up against front doors.
It's glass, sharding classrooms and creche.
It's picket fence impaled through kitchens.
It's bed linen, coddling bare boughs.
It's mail found on lawns many miles away.
It's the whys, and the wherefores and hows.
It's the pleas in the eyes of the helpless.
It's the open mouth stare of aghast.
Much more than six alphabet letters.
It's Debris: wretchedness unsurpassed.
"Debris" flowed with ease from my pen this morning, having watched the video below. Now that it's freed from the dark of my mind, I'm hoping I can concentrate more and put my head back into the soapy stuff.