The Flood ( Summer 2016)
It is there.
There I must go before returning. Before tending to responsibilites.
There I must go.
There I must see.
It becomes clear as I round the bend that there is simply no more road.
Cars that traveled before me have submitted to their fate, their unfinished plan and pulled over to park.
I decide I must do the same.
It’s gleeful to change course.
To be forced to stop.
To be gently reminded of my smallness
What insignificant monarchs we are. inconsolable children who must have their way.
Nothing and everything, divinity in the smallest, but humble acts.
Magic in washing dishes, tending to children, cooking meals.
No longer will we seek out what can be found within
pilgrimage not to a holy site, but to the corner store for milk and eggs.
Basic duties are holy.
Magic everywhere. ruin everywhere. despair everywhere.
Hope bleeds out of our eyes like open wounds.
How beautiful destruction can be.
The road, now two feet under water is still hot from the sun under my submerged bare feet, but the water passing over it is cold.
Bay water that spilled its banks like an over full tub.
The sea birds seem to not have noticed.
I feel relived that the earth, the storms, the flooding, mirrored what I felt, what we have been going through.
so much pushing and pulling, plotting and planning-arguing and counter-arguing- when I should be surrendering instead.