In Nepal, they are dead by the thousands,
yet at night, in the epic tragedy of our bed,
they are hardly spared a thought as we fight
for the happiness so long missed. I wanted
this to be an easy poem to write: all sweeping
sentiment and unfolded perspective, laundry
tossed on the couch and handily sorted.
I, after all, have no burials to plan, no body to bear.
Survival is too far a concept to be bought dear,
though, and I am left with this landslide
of vague loneliness, wishing only for you
to hold me, for a kindness, for a plane ticket
to Katmandu. There are all kinds of earthquakes,
love; some nearer home than others.
-
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the tenth muse 
Yes, the earthquakes in our lives take on all forms. As a lifelong resident of California, who presently lives near a fault line, you to just learn to cover your head, wait out the shaking, check for trouble, and then, move on. Great involving write, thanks, Mosk
Keep your words and thoughts flowing Joanna. I’m here, listening. Thank you! I recently had a major quake in my life, and I imagine I’ll have aftershocks in one form or another for the rest of it.
Just getting over my own earthquake. Wishing you luck in surviving yours, xoxo.