I didn’t want to go there, creaking steps, spider webs,
The dark and dank held no welcome for me.
When the storm came, at first, the powerful thunder,
The flash of lightning, the rain advancing like an army,
Wind sweeping branches and tree trunks like twigs,
An involuntary gasp of awe slipped from my throat.
Then, I saw the smoke, a direct hit, something on fire.
Lightning cracked the sky in half,
An ancient oak rocked the ground.
The basement, the foundation of my house,
My life, the sturdy walls built on years of belonging,
The faith bequeathed to me, a shelter in the storm.
The dusty memories called me, beckoned me to step down,
Down, to reach the deep, to safety.
My hand felt the rough texture of the bricks,
Walls formed by hands long since stilled.
Cool and damp, these walls embraced me.
Life-giving water slaked my hidden thirst.
Here, in the basement, I found God, waiting patiently.
I may stay for an hour, a week, a month,
Remembering the genesis of it all,
The earth, the stalwart ancestors who shaped this land.
Who built a family accustomed to the rhythms
Of hard work, reverent worship, joyful play.
I will remember who I am, and then,
When I am full and ready, I will climb the steps,
Returning with strength and sight restored.
I will join my neighbors to put out fires,
Clean up the debris in destruction’s wake.
We will rebuild.
I found God in the basement, sheltering from the storm.
The resistance will continue, fueled by time remembering,
Finding the footings of our foundations,
Reclaiming sight and voice and strength.
Amy Vaughan
July 11, 2025
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