Earthquakes destroy the past.
I never thought I would live
long enough to witness
the end of my city
but Tuesday lunch time, a cold grey day,
the earth, like a hunting cat, pounced.
We tossed and tumbled,
with our houses see-sawing under us.
Initally, our city was built
on a swamp; when the earth
split open, water and silt
bubbled out through the cracks,
pot-holing pavements and roads.
The cathedral, where we prayed
to God, that same cathedral
collapsed one wall and its spire
on to unwitting passers-by.
Yet it is quite surreal;
my garden is still a wonderland,
even though half a block away,
everything is in disarray.
I mourn for the lost, the maimed, the dead.
I mourn for our grieving city.