The thunder woke me up, last night.
I have to be careful of how I tell
this story. There was no rainfall.
The skies were clear.
Sometimes the memory of a storm
is enough. There is no easy way
to tell the story of being pulled from
where you rest by that which has gone.
That which they tell you
is long gone.
“Don’t you know,
there has been no rain, here,
And yet, the ground is wet.
And yet, the water rises.
And yet, it still knows every piece
of my sadness, from the cringe
of my body
to the open-mouthed scream
that the flood recognizes, so closely.
Last night, it started to move,
— “Memory, When Surviving, Can Be Weight” By Emma Bleker