Letter After the Storm

The roof stayed on. The old elm did not. Its roots lifted dark earth like a table overturned. All morning we carried branches, wet gloves, broken nests, the fence from next door. No one called the rain beautiful. Glass waited under chairs. Still, Mrs. Green arrived with bread wrapped in a towel. Sam brought a blue tarpaulin. Someone found the cat. By afternoon, six ladders leaned against three houses. We worked without introductions. The street learned our names because the storm had removed every easier boundary. Tonight the power returns. One window after another makes a square of light. We are not grateful for damage. We are grateful no one worked alone.