It rained, here, for two days, a 50-year flood
ensued. I wish you could have been home,
instead of there. I watched the back yard
puddle, and huddled within myself. No
picnic table dreams, no sun’s rays, just
drenching, flooding thoughts.

I’ve got Counting Crows’, ‘Hard Candy’,
blasting, I’m at my computer desk. It’s a mess,
as usual. But, you know, I think I see
a clean spot, or two, under the debris.
And, as I eye them, they eye me back,
smile at me, alluring and new.
I’d like that, to be new. So would you.

The girls and I went down to see the flood.
What a run-around! Police tape everywhere,
blocking places to park or look, cop cars all over,
and, when we got to the bridge, we had to cross.
You could feel the shivering and vibrating,
alarming nerves and mind. I turned around, quickly,
and drove back to ‘our’ side of the bridge.

It was a scary, exhilarating feeling,
like, it was worth it, to risk life and limbo,
to a bursting levee, to stand on a cliff,
at the edge, daring the refound ground
to crumble under your feet, laughing
at the churning muddy water that
wanted to sweep you away.

We parked, at the first curve, by that old building,
and started walking to the bridge. A cop
driving by told us we couldn’t go on it, so,
we went back by the Inn. It was spectacular!
The highest I’ve seen, but, not you, you’ve seen
many mining floods, and lives, most of your life
was constantly eroded by storms, floods, and blood.

Anyway, they called the National Guard out that night,
the scanner traffic was intense, Duncan, evacuated.
Quite a hullabaloo. You would have loved it,
I smile when I think of your mind, seeing ‘you’…
It was a warm storm, we could have sat out front,
which you preferred, but, my back yard
was my sanctuary, my unreality.

The next morning was clear, I was up early, restless.
Decided to grab my cameras, and my loneliness,
and I drove down the Corral road, parked to the left,
and made my way down, until, eventually,
I actually stood at that cliff I thought of, I carefully
looked down into that churning, muddy water,
and I smiled, as I turned away.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 2/15/05