They had no word for volcano
and no oral history or mythology
about the mountain that
overshadowed them
and the tremors that
shook their town.
Even when the smoke
began to rise
it was a matter
of curiosity rather than
concern
even when ash rained down
they stayed
under roof, under shelter,
under ground.
Realizing too late
utter destruction had come
with the searing heat
that struck them
where they stood
and buried them as they died
with arms outstretched
and feet in motion
with babies in arms
and silver in pockets.
©2014 Noreen Braman
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