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‘Polar’ and ‘Hurricane Humberto’

by Nancy Anne Miller
3 September 2020


The Russian poet said in Paris

she felt like an iceless polar bear.


One drifts on a flow, piece of the Artic

jigsaw puzzle, like a beach surfer rides


a board. A fan coral in Anguilla is

bleached snow white as the Gulf streams


tepid water. A school of rabbitfish are

brushstrokes in a sky, as they run to Canada.


Hurricane Humberto

The fallen palmetto tree bars the road,

nature blocks man’s journey. The Make

Way sign down. The Ber News photos


peaceful without humans on South Shore.

Just nature roaring through, one poinciana

branch, a large lizard knocked out of its


domain without anything to hold onto.

The video I watch shows casuarinas fidgety

around houses, lively as baby fingers above


a pram as the wind bawls. On the lawn at

Inwood, a fallen paw paw fruit and trunk,

bat and ball left out in the rain. A friend


tells me the earth is trying to get rid of us.

Here, an uprooted mangrove tree is

the storm’s wishbone, keen to eliminate


occupants. One roof wrapped in plastic,

like an islander might wind around

the head in a squall, turquoise as a surgical


cap after chemotherapy. In the bright

sunshine and quiet, after Hurricane Humberto

has gone back out to sea, left the island


with palms bent over, converts to a

ruthless doctrine, the white washed

roofs line up into paper soldier hats.

About the Author

Nancy Anne Miller

Nancy Anne Miller is a Bermudian poet with eight poetry collections. Tide Tables (Kelsay Books 2019) is her latest. She is published internationally in journals such as Edinburgh Review, Poetry Ireland Review, Salzburg Review, Agenda, Stand, The Fiddlehead, The Caribbean Writer. She is a MacDowell Fellow and Bermuda Arts Council Grant recipient. Visit her website here.