(The Northridge, California, Earthquake, 1-17-1994)

The Astronomer was up the mountain,
loving his large telescope on a clear,
star-spangled night. The ginger cat
was roaming outside, and I
was reading, lacking sleep because
my better half was miles away,
and the night's utter stillness
without his heartbeat near, was restless.

The house cracked and jolted!
Then the bed rattled and shook.
The lights flared lightning blue and off!
Books tumbled from the headboard shelves.
I sat bolt upright on the wide bed,
and the jolted digital alarm clock
missed my head by many inches,
as I shook, too, and held the sheets
and held my breath during the
earthly convulsions around me.

The hiss and jolting passed through the house,
leaving shivers and tremors vibrating the air.
I sat in the wide bed, eyes shut tight,
listening to things sliding and falling
in the darkness.

When the main shock was past,
the major falling noises ceased,
and I dared to open my eyes again.
I became aware that our emergency flashlights,
the kind that stay plugged in to charge,
but turn on when the power goes off,
were shining in the hallway,
the bathroom, around the corner
in the living room, too.

In the midst of shaking chaos
as the aftershocks rumbled past
in rapid sequence, I laughed,
delighting that our foresight
in placing those marvellous flashlights
made it possible for me to
find my stout shoes under fallen books,
my cane leaning against the empty bookcase,
my robe fallen on the floor near the door,
to pick my way among the scattered books
to go inspect gas lines, water mains,
circuit breakers, house foundations,
to greet my disturbed neighbors,
all leaving their trembling homes,
to find the cat, all tense muscles
and inquiring, anxious mews.

That small control of light
when the world could have come
crashing down -- that brief sense
of intellectual triumph over
the might of nature --
Oh, I am so thankful for
that splendid moment!

Ursula T. Gibson, 1-18-1994

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