This time the flood took
everything.
Even the wood floor lost its color when the mud was sucked
inside. The beds absorbed water like bandages and had to be
dragged away, their weight almost more than we could bear.
My boys thought the destruction great fun: they stomped
through the patio making large, messy footprints on the brick.
When we slid the picnic table back onto its legs, the crack
in the concrete beneath us opened wider, showing dirt
for the first time in forty years. Nothing stayed hidden.
Uprooted pansies decorated the swing; the fireplace
gave up its ash. And the boys—laughing through it all,
dumping wet books in a pile, not seeing how the words bled
into the flattened grass.