One year ago today our waters rising.
River flooded park then streets by sunset.
The walls of basements wept and crumbled inward.
Still. it felt like no thing to be worried.
Fill the jugs and bathtubs just to be safe.
One year ago tonight the winds they trapped me.
He worried of our safety past the kitchen.
A rotting maple put the back in peril.
He sat and stared out front into the darkness,
while trees turned into rubber band horizons.
One year ago tonight my baby’s dancing.
He breaks his silent ripening the first time,
as if he knows some thing nobody else does,
as if he churns himself within the storm.
One year ago tomorrow we lost power.
The kind that runs in currents,
through lines and outlets.
The kind that lights our homes, our hearths, our heartache.
The kind that gives control of our surroundings.
One year ago tomorrow we lost water.
The kind that comes through pipes instead of flood plains;
instead of roadways, hallways, and then rooftops.
The kind that washes clean our hands and bodies.
The kind that we cook and drink and flush with.
One year ago tomorrow we lost service.
For days or weeks we wondered who was okay.
Cut off in every way we can’t imagine.
One year ago the search and rescues started.
For people, pets and places we have lost.
For power with instead of power over.
For what was left inside that we could offer.
One year ago we took care of each other.
In ways we could not ever have imagined.
We fed and lit and cleared,
We yearned and mourned for.
We carried on and then we carried forward.
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