Year
Stepping through the doorway of my old house, I remembered something.
There was really nothing to it.
I was sitting on the floor,
Drawing.
I was seven years old,
it was the weekend.
My mom was out of town,
My sister was asleep upstairs,
My dad was sitting in his chair.
He had his morning cup of coffee, And a twisty doughnut,
From across the street.
The news was on,
They we're talking about a tsunami,
A tsunami in Japan.
This is the part of the day I remember.
No one would guess,
5 minutes later an earthquake would hit Oahu,
5 minutes later I would be hiding under the couch,
5 minutes later my father would jump out of his chair To grab my baby sister.
Would you guess that?
5 minutes later my mother,
Away from home,
Would be frantically calling our house?
We didn’t either.
But when I go back and think of that day,
I remember drawing,
Hoping I’ll get a bite of the doughnut,
From across the street,
Smelling my dad’s coffee,
And hearing the ocean.
Who would’ve thought I would remember,
The calm before the storm.
There was really nothing to it.
I was sitting on the floor,
Drawing.
I was seven years old,
it was the weekend.
My mom was out of town,
My sister was asleep upstairs,
My dad was sitting in his chair.
He had his morning cup of coffee, And a twisty doughnut,
From across the street.
The news was on,
They we're talking about a tsunami,
A tsunami in Japan.
This is the part of the day I remember.
No one would guess,
5 minutes later an earthquake would hit Oahu,
5 minutes later I would be hiding under the couch,
5 minutes later my father would jump out of his chair To grab my baby sister.
Would you guess that?
5 minutes later my mother,
Away from home,
Would be frantically calling our house?
We didn’t either.
But when I go back and think of that day,
I remember drawing,
Hoping I’ll get a bite of the doughnut,
From across the street,
Smelling my dad’s coffee,
And hearing the ocean.
Who would’ve thought I would remember,
The calm before the storm.
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