Three Days: A Poem in Three Parts, Part Two


The next day, the rain came, again.
Every few minutes, a new sound,
A new amount:
A sheet, a bucket, a drop, a blanket.

And inside our house,
the rain came too.
Honey brown stripes down
our 6 month old walls.
Pools collecting on the orange plastic
covering my desk.

Watercolors painted,
Paper soaking
muddy stains.

The wind was next.
With its power
mostly suggested.

Loud because of a tarp on our roof
Ineffectively flapping about.

The fear of destruction
Waking us up at dawn.

The light so dim,
Not from earliness
But from clouds.

The day is given up on
For anything related to production
Or radio waves.
It is time for
mopping and sopping.
Watching and snacking.

Telepathically transmitting:
We are okay.
We are a little bit wet.

The house has been overtaken
By chaos.

A storm within created by