AFTER THE FLOOD

What have the sunflowers lost? Look at them all, heads bent down heavy, anxiously, earnestly searching the ground. Or maybe they hear Persephone raped and tattered and scared crying down there for her mother. There’s nothing they can do.

Swallows are lined up on the wire now: black beads on a string

Once more I’m getting fat like I was after the baby was born but now I don’t have that excuse. I’ll never have that excuse again.

We drove along roads that had been closed, gravel thick along the shoulders. New channels carved in the river.

Back home, a catbird perched on top of a wild apple tree pretended to be somebody else.