Deluge Got Me Thinking

Dallas is so underwater.
Fifteen inches of rain in twenty-four hours.

I hope the art survived
dry and temperature controlled in museums.

And that joint you told me about
with the good pastrami sandwich and pickles.

Really. All I know of Dallas
is the airport hub and jetting off to somewhere else.

One day I will have to visit the concrete and glass
to learn what makes it beautiful on the inside

instead of luxuriating in the natural beauty
of my sparsely populated New Mexico.

Cleansing

We prayed for rain.
We danced for rain.

We sacrificed cheeseburgers for rain.
We drank beer for rain.

We sang rain songs.
We dressed up like little rain clouds.

Rain got the message.
Rain clouds gathered cousins from all around the world.

Rain arrived at two-seventeen on Wednesday.
Rain fell upon us in earnest.

We never saw rain like that before.
No roof kept the rain out.

No arroyo or river kept the rain in their banks.
Rain flooded the Catholic churches.

It flooded the Protestant churches too.
And the synagogues and mosques.

It was a good baptist rain
that insisted upon full immersion.

The Rio Grande flood plain
lived up to its name.

The rain washed buildings off the foothills
and down to the river.

The flood moved Albuquerque south
past Los Lunas and Belen.

The rain rained itself out by nine twenty-two.
The moon shone down on millions

of Our Fathers, Hail Marys and Glory Be’s.
It glinted off droplets hung on bent and dinged serifs.

Sewage bubbled up in the sink.
Rain swelled the stars.
You sailed against the current ’til it turned you.

Eden’s broken snake road a pennant.
The black water surged over a stripped body.
You grounded upon a submerged dump truck.

Was this destruction a great disaster
or a heavenly cleansing?
You wandered into the village church.

Only the priest prayed.
Everyone else was too cold and weary to speak.
You leaned against a wall.

Under a stain glass parable
the wind roared through gaps in the leading.
You heard the church bell toll un-pulled.

The ocean rose during the night.
More than high tide.
More than storm tossed.

It flowed through the first floors
of beach front houses
and unintentionally set two on fire.

It took wharf planks out to sea
for wayward gulls to land on
and curious dolphins to nudge.

The ocean went back down by morning
but left salty puddles
where the depressed land kept souvenirs.

An attempt to get over a little hump.
A new stretching practice.
Like Yoga. But for oceans.