Here in New England, we have had quite a bit of rain lately. Many of us are bailing out basements and mopping up cellar floors. After hearing a considerable number of these stories, I spent some time thinking about the whole process in relation to the cycles of life and death. I summarized my thoughts in the following poem:
iFlood
by Paul Creeden
veneered with flood water
mottled gray basement floor
not deep but seeping up
from under earth beneath.
mottled gray basement floor
not deep but seeping up
from under earth beneath.
cannot push it down, away.
must suck it up and spit it out
down the back walk asphalt
to the gutter storm drains.
must suck it up and spit it out
down the back walk asphalt
to the gutter storm drains.
dead things, decomposed, stay.
the soup of deep water dried
shows brine and bacteria skin
around the rough cellar edges.
the soup of deep water dried
shows brine and bacteria skin
around the rough cellar edges.
scent of drying decay reminds
how we are just bits together
until we die and soak and rot
to parts of low ground water
how we are just bits together
until we die and soak and rot
to parts of low ground water
someday after some heavy rain
somewhere not too far from here
my bits may visit you invisibly
rising with the damp under foot.
somewhere not too far from here
my bits may visit you invisibly
rising with the damp under foot.
don't hesitate to flush me out.
travel will be my way of life.
from pump to drain to sea mist
and back to flood water again.
travel will be my way of life.
from pump to drain to sea mist
and back to flood water again.
.
