Mt. Pinatubo
Three o’clock in the afternoon:
the sun should have been
scorching the asphalts
and the shingles on roofs, but
spurts of red electric spark
ran across the sky. Blackness
smothered any hint of light.
Molten earth spewed out
from the gates of hell. The ground
rumbled and shook.
Ash engulfed the rice fields.
Those who were caught
and trapped in its path
were mummified like those at Pompeii. Rocks,
mud rained from heaven,
thudded against concrete walls. Palm and coconut
trees were unearthed from their roots
as if a gardener was yanking out weeds.
Villagers ran blindly to a nearby church
while their skins roasted and peeled
from their muscles and bones. The ones,
who were able to reach
the Cross, suffocated—their lungs
seared from sulfuric acid.
An avalanche of dirt buried them
six feet deep.
I was on the opposite
side of the island. The wind
howled as it blew East.
Copyright © Neilbee Love Tayco | Year Posted 2008
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