A Mass of Water

Bubbling up behind a horizon, 
I can hear it,
It’s in the underbelly of the earth,
Rooted in the middle of my stomach. 

I make friends with kind creatures,
All faceless, anthropomorphic and soundless.

It’s natural being here,
For I have been there before,
 
​​​Two Chileans,
Perhaps mother and child,
Are lost and in pain,
This is the calm before the wild,
It will come and take claim.

My presence is of duty, 
For their salvation,
For when it comes,
It will destroy this nation.

We have been warned,
When it comes it will indeed flood the Land,
A heft so powerful,
Not even a tree will be left to stand.

Having survived this, many times before,
Deep instincts come right to the fore.
It’s now getting darker,
The shadow darkens all buildings,
I can hear the white noise of it, 
Throbbing, growing and sizzling.

The pleading eyes of the Chileans,
As I lift them with the rope’s slack,
I climb up the blowing palm,
The child clutching at my back.

Coconuts thud to the sand,
 ‘This will flood the land’,
And is most definitely not a time for lack.

The water,
A deep navy,
We Grab on tight,
And try not to slip,
At this point, I think that I can almost see its lip.
The churn of the curl,
It’s now ready to unfurl.
A howling, a roaring,
And yet natural rage.

The beach lies there listless,
Unknowingly, it’s a theatre stage.

Then I wake,
The room filled with a dawn hue,
I lie perspiring and think…
Did the Chileans wake too?