Flooded
The waters of the Nile were never so vile,
so foul as this flooded plain, that has so much
to gain, with all the rain, as the rivers rise
out of their banks, bring sludge and silt along
for the ride, along with the high tide
that glides up, over and around.
The daily news with views so full of grime
& guile, as to raise the bile of indigestion
that swells over our tongues and below the teeth
we keep sheathed, so as to not chew on the brew
we are forced to drink. We think the only
means to reduce the risk to life and limb is to face
grim facts — and shoot to kill.
The current, strong and swift, drifts
as it shifts — as if we could ever confront
the brunt of the hunt, the onslaught of liquid
that has brought drips, slips and eddies over the roads,
loads into yards, squelches along pathways, swamps
gardens, and submerges shrubs.
So much depends on what we clutch,
what we cling to, while we fling
our idea of safety into a security
that easily fades into obscurity.
Once the rian gains access and blessed infiltration
with irrigation, it gluts along baseboards,
cuts and cosies up to the furniture.
The deluge continues to drench our refuge.
Our unvoices lament is moist at firs, then soggy,
soaked, swamped. Our homes become aqueous.
We are waterlogged. We are immersed — engulfed.
by Annette Gagliardi
Published in Water Songs: Mississippi Valley Poets & Writers Anthology, League of MN Poets Press, Spring 2024.