'The Gale Engenders in the Eye'

“hurricane-lamp  n. a lamp so constructed that it will not be extinguished by violent wind.” [OED]

Laura, like Petrarch’s, never happened, at least here in Houston. Still skittish from Hurricane Harvey three years ago today, we fussed. We bought batteries, bottled water and “dry goods.” I spent an afternoon earlier this week clearing the backyard of potential projectiles – flowerpots, the gas grill, two Adirondack chairs and logs from the tree I sawed down earlier this month. Everything stowed in the garage. We placed a last-minute order for cat and dog food. By Wednesday, the suspense was dispensed. The storm was veering east. Louisiana would get the worst of it. I woke once early Thursday morning to the sound of – nothing. The sky stayed blue all day. Here is the title poem from Turner Cassity’s Hurricane Lamp (University of Chicago Press, 1986):

“In warm cut-glass the geometric fire:

Triangle the half or diamond the whole,

Unstable in the still the bright parts pair,

Vibrate, divide; as if to say the gale

“Engenders in the eye, and in the wind

Are lapses where the fire can tower high.

New smoker of a charcoal filter, mind

You do not burn your fingers as you try,

“Face lowered toward the bar, to suck the flame.

In vortices as calm, ineptness wrecks;

In proper lighters, in the wettest storm,

The hooded flint rolls sparks along the thumb.

“Here, have a match. Its height two hands protect.”

Were we relieved? Of course. Harvey flooded my car and left us without power for four days – no lights, no AC. One of the oaks in the front yard might have caved in the roof. But with relief, I confess, came a little spark of disappointment. There’s something rousing about enduring disaster safely.