It's Still Life

An Everywhere Poem: San Francisco Earthquake

1989
World Series.
Baseball.
Late afternoon.

It starts

with the sound
of a heavy lorry
driving by.

Lorries never drove
on our little narrow lane.

Eucalyptus hanging low.
Potholed dusty track.
Watch for falling rock.

Then waves.
In the pool.

Washed up
and over the lawn.

The birds
stopped singing.

A friend refused
to go back
into her house.

Cooked outside.
Bathed outside.
She lived outside

until one day —

“I’m moving back to Denmark.
No fucking earthquakes there.”

Packed a few things,
grabbed the children,

and left.

But what I remember most,

the birds
stopped singing

days before
and afterward.

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Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.