There are strawberries
floating in the flood water
& all ten chickens
floating in the flood water
& all ten chickens
are on the front porch
going absolutely nuts
& the children keep
asking about how
to make this world better.
Could we bottle death
& toss it into the water?
Are there new gods
we could partner with?
The dog is safe inside
& asleep by where
there used to be music.
We own the house,
but the neighbors have
all changed their politics
& they tell all of us
all the time that the flood
is a good thing. At night
we read the other stories
to the children
so they know this can
all be so simple, grand
& when the always,
always terrible takes
a breath, we will be in
a boat, bound for Kentucky.
It’s awful there as well,
but it’s honest. Ohio
can only ride us into
the ravine where the fires
were first set by the teens
that knew, that knew
more things should be burning
that knew, that knew
more things should be burning
& I was so proud when
our children dragged a couch
on to the roof to light it
because we don’t need wood
& fabric right now, we need
the signal to rise up
higher than the waters that
came from the busted pipes.
I miss the rain. I miss the rain.
I miss the field parties
& the dancing. Now, now, now
we must grow into a threat
& I’ve never had to be one
before. The children know
what to do. I’ll follow them.
I can carry whatever they need
me to. I’m strong, but I’m sad.
They’re so beautifully angry.
