“Men argue. Nature acts.”
—Voltaire
Palm trees wave their heavy heads,
canna lilies rise brilliant and bloody
in their beds, and the tide floods the streets.
They call it sunny day flooding, because it hasn’t rained
for weeks, and still the water comes.
I haven’t cried in weeks, and still—
I hear the polar caps are nearly free
of ice, that the sea will rise and don’t I know it?
My car founders in the flood.
I like to think this is the only thing stopping me
from finding you,
but that isn’t true.
The tide swept in and took you away. At least
that is what I say when people ask where you are.
I know it sounds like you’re dead, forgive me
if I find that easier.
I’ve tried to live consciously, nothing
without purpose, to do nothing
without consideration for the world
I inhabit.
Since you left, I’ve kept
all the lights on. Since you left,
I drive my car endlessly around the neighborhood.
I eat beef and candy, and I’m thinking
of having a pool put into the backyard, thinking
about buying an SUV.
The water burbles up through storm drains, seeps
into the roots of our garden, kills
our onions with salt. Which is okay, I guess,
since you planted them.
