Don't Make Her Cry

When I was young it was fun
to find the bed gently rocking,
waking me in the middle of the night.
Little quakes occurred regularly
in the continuing collision
of the Pacific and continental plates.
Often the walls, joists, or rafters
or our house would complain:
groaning, snapping, or banging
in the uninvited movement.

I liked earthquakes until age
twenty-six.  While eating
lunch at my drafting board
I heard a loud rumble, then the
ancient brick walls of my
building began to move,
shake, and groan as plaster
rained down from above.
Terrified, trembling, crouching
under my drafting board I felt
the floor rising, falling, shaking
as the building groaned, banged,
and screamed for its life.

I cried, "Remember, God,
I am Ruth Kelly's baby boy.
Have mercy on her.
Don't make her cry!"

(c)Robert L. Kelly                          2008

published in The Poet's Domain, Vol 24

Live Wire Press, Charlottesville, VA