Flood
\nBy
\nJoseph Anthony Petro<\/p>\n
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Days, weeks, months, and years
\nCan go by without a flood. Oh, I know
\nThe river\u2019s there, and the storms,
\nAnd the groundwater saturates so much
\nOf the foundations, but the floods
\nAre something else entirely.
\nIt\u2019s like this: I wake in the middle of the night
\nAnd without warning the water is already
\nSpilling over my bed, and even as I wipe my eyes
\nTrying to make sense of what is happening,
\nI go under–my chest and guts fill with bone-
\nCrushing pressure; the ceiling disappears and the walls
\nClose in and there\u2019s nothing but dark water
\nAnd a faraway distant night sky\u2014way up there somewhere,
\nAnd if I don\u2019t call out for help no lifeline appears,
\nAnd the walls close in to the very edges of my bed,
\nAnd the water keeps rising and I can\u2019t swim
\nAnd I can no longer see and some part of me dies
\nAs the night sky fills my blank, staring eyes.
\nAnd then, I am floating, gone, part of the nothingness
\nThat comes with deluges like this.
\nAnd little by little, over days, weeks, months, and years
\nThe walls will slip back and the water recede through the cracks
\nAnd into the basement and through the ground–
\nSoaking the surrounding roots. And I will suddenly
\nBe able to see, and water will gush from my eyes and mouth
\nAnd I will gag and cough and grab my stomach and chest
\nAnd retch. And somehow, somehow, somehow,
\nI will step from my bed and it will be morning
\nAnd the sun will be shining, and I will begin moving
\nThrough my life, water logged, heart-soddened
\nWith terror, mind drenched with \u2018why\u2019
\nAnd I will eventually make it, things will dry
\nAs I move in the light, and I will go around
\nWith secret sorrow dripping from my every funny word,
\nUntil days, weeks, months, or years later, there\u2019s another flood
\nAnd I will wake in the middle of the night
\nWater spilling over my bed<\/p>\n
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