Stuff that I have written.
It was an artificial pond, with no
soft grass dissolved by water; concrete walls
and tended trees with leaves like waxwork toys
made space for weekend rowing. Strollers ringed
the lake and children pranced and played at war.
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From heights we learn that nothing’s very high.
These seams on earth, as raised as stitching, are
The tyranny of gravity made wry.
This poem isn’t about what the title says, of course. Even though my family went through this, I don’t actually have any memory of it; it all happened when we were quite young.
The billboards along the road, dry,
Sandblasted pink and pale,
Aren’t even markers of distance yet.
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Once upon a time I wrote a guitar instrumental called “After the Flood.” It became the title track on my CD. It sounds like this:
Then I mistakenly wrote lyrics to go on top of it. It’s not that the lyrics were bad; they just didn’t need to exist.
They’re in the liner notes on the CD now, but I figured, why not post ’em as the Sunday Poem? So here they are.
