Hurricane Andrew

Miami, FL — photo property of the author

I am born a few months after
Hurricane Andrew
swatted at Miami
like it was
nothing.

We are both hungry and
sustained by warmth:
Andrew by the ocean
and me
by my mother’s womb.

Like Andrew, I am unexpected:
there’s my mother’s age,
my father’s empty pockets,
their non-existent English.

My mom — not yet a mother —
is watching
other people’s children
during the day
while my dad delivers pizza
and takes English classes
at night.

August 24th, 1992.
Andrew makes landfall
in Homestead
on a Monday
after inhaling
the ocean
like a strong smell
that makes you
sneeze.

Miami moves
under the weight of Andrew
like a tango.
Andrew dips Miami
low
and spins
her delicate wrists,
hot…