Holding On

 “With little fear of exaggeration, it can be stated that the Columbus Day Storm of 1962 was the most powerful windstorm to strike the Pacific Northwest in the 20th century.” National Weather Service, Portland and Seattle, and Fitzgerald, Dorothy, "West Coast Disaster," 196

We were still at the lake house
on that day in October of 1962

when we heard that a storm was brewing.

A big one.

 Bring it on, we said.

The bravado we’d earned in August
when we lost Mom

held us together
and kept us strong.

 We heard it coming up the back road,
a low rumble at first
howling as it neared.

We hunkered down under the big wooden table
holding hands.
Me, the biggest
down to Molly, the smallest.

 Then it was upon us

prying at the eaves
trying to lift the roof like the lid on a shoebox
to get at us.

We held on.
Silent, squeezing our eyes shut
and our hands tight.

Frozen in place.

In an instant
or maybe it was an hour
it tired of us.

We heard it screaming
across the field toward town
to wreak its havoc down on Main Street.

 We all breathed in.
Looked at each other, breathed out.

Whoa, someone said. That was close.

Slowly, we crawled out,
unclasped our hands.

Then we heard it coming back.

Not done with us.

Back under the table,
hands locked together again.

The summer furniture
which She would have stored in September
was still scattered along the wide porch.

 As the wind moved in again
everything began to slide toward the edge

en masse
Adirondack chairs, small tables, Her rocker.

 We peeked out through the window

and saw all of it
take flight
soaring out over the lake and making splashdown.

 Everything floated for a moment
before sinking
like stones.

 Then,
its work done,
it abandoned us for good.

 We crept out again,
still holding hands.

We smiled at each other
conspirators, refugees
from a terror we could not name.

And I wondered how
in the world
the old single-pane windows
had held strong.

   2019