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Tsunami Warning, 3-11-11

Tsunami Warning, 3-11-11


Waterdog, you and I

are not morning creatures,

so when the phone sounded,

calling out, “doom,” it was

hard to take. You and I,


Waterdog, me and you—

you’re my whole world, you know.

It was painful leaving

you behind, though I knew

you’d hold fast and stay safe.


Waterdog, the drive to

work was eerie, no souls

in sight. Not even the

inland farmers worked their

fields. Silence gripped the land.


Waterdog, it was as

though the world was holding

its breath, as though we had

already been swallowed,

as though we were at sea.



Waterdog, I mourned for

the Japanese, wishing

I could hold that fragile

landmass, and make it all

ok. But I am just


one, Waterdog, and my

arms are too small. Instead,

I held you, holding fast

to hope and your soft form,

weeping for what was lost.


Waterdog, when I left,

I’d told you to stay safe–

protect the house, the cats,

the hens—survive the day.

But you did more than that.


Waterdog, you kept safe

my world. You stood strong and

growled at the waves. You bared

your teeth, and you kept the

mighty ocean at bay.


Karin Dickinson


Normative Syllabic Verse

Categories: Poetry
  1. August 14, 2011 at 9:38 am

    This is one of my favorite poems you’ve written. Waterdog likes it, too.

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