One house is lit with self-generated power on the corner,
an island of civilization dropped in the center of unfolding void,
as darkness filters past the last wisps of sunlight and pours over us,
and rising angry waters grope up our legs and over our thighs.
I can feel, not see, waves lapping against me one quickly after another
as the ground transforms in mere minutes to inland sea and surf
Fear grips my heart as even the one house lit blinks off and dark
and moon itself comes out but covered by coiled ribbons of deluge.
I hear wailing and crying echoing down the road a bit;
not the sound of physical pain, but realization of how little we have now
or maybe of how much we have that is now useless
as we depend on things much more direct and dire.
I tug again at the inflatable raft behind me, bright red dulled by night
filled as it is with food and books and batteries and toilet paper
but also laptops and a tv that seem to valuable to simply leave
but so worthless now to hang on to as well.
Maris sits in the front of our ark humming a bit
trusting daddy will pull her to a place where Bert and Ernie play again,
whimpering more than a little as lite drops play off her nose and toes
and threaten to wetten her as much as mommy’s couch left far behind.
I pull us to higher and higher ground, trying to find a place to stand
yet knowing the raft is then useless as a tow truck for what is left.
I think of a life with Ella in that house, alone with the couch
with the memories of her mom hanging on; till the absolute bitter end.
I have to hang on too, pulling Ella behind me to a new life somewhere,
not back to that house flooded with both water and memories;
not back to the flood of pain I can no longer fight against
not back to the impossible of staying and being happy.
I prayed that my life could start over with Ella,
that it could be re-started in a bold new way with courage.
The storm from the very finger of God did come,
and the wind and waters took all that we knew but each other.
It may be wrong to smile in the midst of such tragedy
but I like what I remember my pastor said to me not long ago
about how our life COULD change for the better yet.
“God makes good of all things.”
I had to smile a bit more as we passed the flooded church...