Thoughts on the Anniversary of Superstorm Sandy
It’s been one year since Superstorm Sandy. We’ve all come a long way, but we also haven’t. The following is my best attempt of sharing that frustration and hope with you. You can also read some of our posts from that time here, here, here, and here.
Like always if you like our work, please consider making a monetary donation, it goes a long way.
With hopes for a better tomorrow,
Jon Stepanian & Long Island Food Not Bombs
People burning the wood siding of their homes
Feeding steel trashcan fires for warmth.
I want to write something for the anniversary of Hurricane Sandy.
But I don’t know how to express that pain in words.
The people who lost their homes,
Or loved ones.
The memories washed away by floodwaters,
The fires, or the stench of the broken sewers pouring into the streets.
The cars floating in subway terminals.
The weeks and months of cold showers.
Dis-connectivity, the lack of phones, or Internet,
or electricity, or gasoline.
I don’t know how to write of the towns isolated from the world,
Without knowledge of if help would come,
Or if there is still a world to come help them.
I don’t know how to write of the filth,
the poisons and sludge we’ve discarded into the oceans,
Spit back up over our homes.
The irony of Mother Nature refusing to accept anymore of our trash,
Giving it back to its creators.
I don’t know how to write of the horrors,
I fear in some way doing so overlooks the many other horrors across the globe.
The radiation spilling from Fukushima,
The boys in Nicaragua sold into prostitution,
The tens of thousands of farmers in India committing suicide in their last defiant act, their actions their last hope to defend their families from Monsanto.
“What must I do” Socrates proclaimed at his end.
I just don’t know
I don’t know how to write of the despair,
I’m not qualified; I’m not eloquent enough.
A loved one once said there is no apocalypse,
And yet there is Sandy, and Syria and Somalian children starving each day.
Freighter ships scuttled in New Dorp Beach.
Homes burned to their roofs in Long Beach.
Buildings sunken into the liquefied earth in Lindenhurst.
Attack helicopters flying over gas stations.
The homeless drowned in catacombs below Bellevue hospital.
In defiance, I can write of the community,
The neighbors coming to help each other out,
To feed, and clothe each other.
To rebuild each other’s homes,
To sew these deep wounds.
The solidarity of strangers with axes and bleach,
With hot soup and warm blankets,
Batteries and MRE’s.
All those at Long Island Food Not Bombs and OWS,
In Our Hearts and the Occupy Storefront.
The cafés organizing collections,
The warehouses creating staging grounds,
The travelers bringing vans, and box trucks, and airplanes with supplies,
I can write of those things.
There’s the stories of those who lost everything,
Helping others before themselves.
The hope that, together, we can overcome the greatest of adversities.
Yet still, there is the fear that this was just the beginning.
The fear that we broke something hollow,
A compact with the earth that demands retribution.
A wakeup call, we’re already ignoring.
The apocalypse is a refusal to change,
it is the now.
It is the ignorance that our future isn’t in our own hands,
That what will happen is beyond us,
Even though it’s not.
What will happen is solely reliant on us.
I don’t want us to hit the snooze button anymore.
Will you wake with me together?
Will you change this all with me together?
Posted Oct 29 2013 - 10:16am by LongIslandFNB