fertile ground

The flood waters receded.

There was a flood, a rush of noise, a fullness beyond capacity. Some things were lifted and carried. Some things were buried. Everything, everything was tested in its hold.

I lie in the mud plane, a swath cut by the drag of what had fallen. Everything now is still and lumpish and brown. I am indistinguishable from the rest. Slowly I come to understand that the still air above me is not water. I could sit up now. I could stand. I uncurl my fingers.

There is a green smell to the brown, an edge of mint. The ground crackles like rice crispies in milk, the wet soaking in, the air bubbling out. “This is good mud,” I declare, rising to my elbows on the strength of the revelation.

From where the water left him in the top branches of a tree still standing, the Ferryman throws back his head and laughs.


This entry was posted in the gift of the flood and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to fertile ground

  1. travellingpoetsunion says:

    beauty here
    such teachers; floods:

    oh mother you bring us waters from the raging river
    that is our road
    making room for things to grow in the dark soil
    still thirsting for the waters
    however dirty
    to wash our minds
    please mother wash them clean


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