Loch Arbour, August 2012

I'm not sure if I'm ready to write about the storm.
The storm that has changed our lives, 
From Before Sandy to After.

I'm not ready to write about the destruction,
About how peculiar it is 
to feel homesick for places that have been destroyed.
I cannot write about that emptiness.

I am thankful that we are safe. That we are alive. 
That the damage sustained was minor.
But this is heartbreak. 

This is our home. Our towns. Our memories.
These are our flooded, sandy streets,
the streets we scorched our bare feet on as we ran home from the beach for lunch.

These are our broken boardwalks, built with the wood that gave us splinters;
these are the boardwalks we hid under when the sun shone too bright.

And this is our ocean, the one that turned on us;
This is our ocean that pulled us and our bathing suit tops under the tide,
and then smiled on us, gliding our boogie boards gleefully to shore.

I do not know a childhood memory that does not involve my home, 
the Jersey Shore.

We will rebuild. We will move on.
We will put faith in nostalgia and each other.
We will. 
We will move on.

Asbury Park, September 2012
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