Work Text:
She stands in the front porch,
Staring at the red welt
Left by the bucket's handle
On the palm of her hand.
With the right thumb, she rubs it.
Beyond the railing , an ocean
Of uprooted trees, broken fences,
Pieces of houses, and mud lies,
Covering the once beautiful
Flower and vegetable gardens.
The river carried away stones
From walkways nod submerged
Those that remained. It pulled
Leaves off the trees and sucked
Thr life from the land.
Yet, life survives, the scent
Of windflowers float on the wind,
Masking the smell of dead things.
Small green shoots climb up
Through the mud, fighting
their way into the sunlight
She stops rubbing her hand,
Looks down at the bucket,
Kneels beside it, pulls a scrub
Brush from it, and begins washing
The mud from the porch.