Written by James Lilliefors
There will be warnings, we were told,
and there were.
But when the first ones came,
we thought they might be something else.
So we waited.
Some warnings rumbled, some warnings roared.
Some came stealthily, silent as sea-rise.
In the suburbs they sometimes shimmered first,
then darkened like locusts, littering lawns
with strange detritus that we quickly raked into piles
and set on fire.
There will be warnings,
we told each other. Better ones.
And there were, stark
as summer snowstorm.
But even then,
we could not agree
which were warnings
and which were simply changes
in the weather.
So we argued.
And the warnings grew
more respectable,
acquiring property,
planting shade trees,
building tents of silence
on their lawns.
And still we told our children
what we’d told each other:
there will be warnings.
And there were.
But by then, having endured
decades of them ourselves,
we also winked a disclaimer:
They are only warnings.
First published in Mobius (May 2024)
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James Lilliefors is a poet, journalist, and novelist. His first collection of poems, SUDDEN SHADOWS, will be published in October 2025 by Finishing Line Press.