Originally submitted for Regis University's Prague Remote Residency Application in July 2019.
Houston Baptist University website.
As far as natural disasters go,
I could not have known the extent
Of the vastness of nothing that would meet me
On an early day in August. I worked orientation
For five hundred freshmen, of whom only two hundred came
And quickly left as storm warnings went out.
Homesickness is a disease that skipped over me
As I am sick of a home I do not have.
My father couldn’t pick me up, even if he feared for my life,
Since campus was a lower elevation than our house,
And my mother didn’t call me from California,
Later said that she knew calling wouldn’t change a thing.
It still would have been nice to hear
That she was worried.
My roommate drove three hours to move in early,
Packed our dorm with gallons of water as she too
Had heard of what was to come. Just in case
We filled the bathtub if the city cut the plumbing.
My last meal could have been Schlotzsky’s,
Which tasted like a five-star cuisine to me,
Ham and cheese, hold the onions
And the tomatoes and the mustard
But leave the lettuce because it tastes like nothing,
Which I use to fool myself and say I’m healthy.
My last discovery could have been the joy and wonders
Of UberEats and how the driver couldn’t find
The right turn-in for our university.
Noon on the first day, the sky poured
And Harvey wept, a river down Beechnut Street,
Filled with pickup trucks dragging rafts
Instead of paddleboats carrying tourists.
Bless her heart, my roommate sat on her desk,
People-watching from the confines of our sanctuary.
“Oh, that’s so cute, this one family’s going to play
In the water with their kids!”
About an hour and a half later, she amended,
“Oh, God, I’m such an asshole.
They’re evacuating.”
We couldn’t if we wanted to
Or, well, I couldn’t. This was my home.
I learned that friends cuddle that weekend;
Thunder and lightning shook the windows next to my bed,
So I tried to nap in my roommate’s across the way.
I almost fell off and we were overheating each other.
Better to take my chances with the rattling glass,
Lump my fear of heights, storms, and falling off of
Balconies all together for an anticlimactic death.
My roommate left for her boyfriend’s, and I stayed
For three days in my dorm until the cafeteria
Briefly opened for dinner hours.
Paul, not the apostle, asked me if I was okay.
How had Jesus felt, leaving the tomb?
Had he known he would be faced with nothing?
A natural disaster strikes, and the world doesn’t
End. A man is crucified, and only his friends weep.
When I was young, Ike broke down the fences.
I had never been afraid of him or Rita or Katrina,
And not even staring at Harvey made me flinch,
But the devastation followed me around all down
Fondren, beyond potholes and construction,
Piles of roofing, wood, and trash,
Broken furniture stacked on front lawns.
Classes started a week late, and an icebreaker exercise
In “The Art of Storytelling” had Dominic quiet
Shortly after mentioning that his home was gone.
We called ourselves #HoustonStrong
And my university’s annual literary magazine
Named “community” the theme for their new issue.
I sat around a round table that year and watched
The rebuilding of the temple in Jerusalem.
Months later, the Astros won the World Series
Because we earned it and the breath of relief
That left my lungs was not of a baseball fan
But of a dreamer, peering out the window
Of a sixth-floor dorm room as rain pattered on
Glass and shredded lettuce fell onto my plate.