Amand Garnet Ruffo
In The Haliburton Highlands Night
The car’s headlights wrench open the night,
trees caught in frenzy,
wipers slashing across our sight
straining to push
the heavy rain aside.
Up ahead a tow truck,
a man in a yellow raincoat
waving us on, slowly.
Commotion below the road.
A huge poplar snapped
by the wind.
A blue car with a crumpled
tin can roof.
The front end
suspended on cables
floating
above the ditch.
And us unable to help
or turn around
on the slick road,
expecting doom around every bend,
over every knoll. Thinking
how do you help the dead
anyway?
I have never lived through an earthquake. But I found this poem instructive.