They never tell you how brown flood water is,
like thin gravy overflowing a plate;
that it’s cold, that it smells like mildew—
or how heavy it is,
as you struggle to push
the car door open against the press of it,
the angry river like a giant
leaning against the car’s side,
that if you do,
the water will sweep in, curling cold
against your legs in seconds.
They never mention that modern cars
don’t have window-cranks anymore,
that they can’t be opened without
the aid of the drowned engine—
they never suggest
that the highway system’s designed
to channel water
like a mass of tangled rivers—
that we’re living
in a delta that can’t be seen
only inferred
through change over time,
or that the swamps
and the hungry ocean
are just waiting to take it all back.
This is tactile and beautiful. Nicely done.