Three years ago, during the election, a mob stormed the Hotel Montana, and, overcome by the beauty they found there, stayed to play. My sister wrote this:

Hotel Montana, by Ruth Hersey

…

And when we got in
You would hardly believe how beautiful it was.
There was a pool
Like the ocean but clean,
Blue like a huge Culligan bottle
How many buckets were carried on how many heads to fill that pool?
Maybe the angels did it.
And then I jumped in
And the water frothed with joy as we splashed it on each other
And some people reclined on heavenly deck chairs
And some explored the many mansions.

…

Today, the Hotel Montana is in ruins, as a result of yesterday’s earthquake.

Ruth was, I think, going to re-post the entire poem this week. I retrieved it from backups of an old website she posted it on several years ago, since that was her only copy of it. But this week she’s living in a soccer field, and doesn’t have electricity or internet, so it may be a while before you get to read the whole thing.