I REMEMBER WHEN THE HURRICANES WOULD COME

we would watchfully wait, testing capacities of bathtubs

hoarding fresh water and air conditioning and beer

it was always one giant party until it wasn’t

one year I happened to be heartbroken, already sent home from work

and didn’t watch a minute of news, I went to my friends house

and drank red wine for 48 hours on his hardwood floor

we woke up covered in spanish moss, all the trees had fallen around us

the humidity made our skin glow in the dark, the pets were feral

in the streets we didn’t see a single other person

let alone the ones who broke our hearts, but worse still

out of wine and out of work, penniless and pained

we went out to the swamps and howled with what was left of the wind 

Keri Smith was born in South Africa to Americans sailing around the world. She grew up in Florida where she played in punk bands and toured the country, but then decided to get her MFA in Creative Writing from the New School. Her first book, Dragging Anchor, was published by Hanging Loose Press in 2018, where she works now as an assistant editor. Until she recently, she also worked in bars, but no one is doing that today. She is currently isolated in her apartment with her husband and chihuahua in Brooklyn. Follow her on Instagram @ springbreakisover