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As We Drove |
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The announcer through the static warned of flash floods: the sky could split, gullies fill, and bridges wash out. Stop, take cover, look for high ground-- wherever that was, amid mesquite and sand. |
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Nothing but miles. The approach, when it came, was sullen, week-old bruises and a migraine throb that did not prepare us. We could have stood one side of a wall, where all was moderation, and dissolution on the other: every shape and color bled. |
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The earth had been dry. I saw an arroyo roiled with mud and stones, and a cottonwood baited like an animal. As lightning struck, the water burned, and from that taking fire rain and daubed earth rose to the sky, full of greys, browns, and streaks of light. |
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Perhaps some things appear so elemental that the flash and crack can stun you into yourself, or is that foolish? Though you said wait, I stepped outside, wondering what I was about. Was I about to come back, would I come back if the next bolt was as close as the first. |
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It has been years since that imprudence and your anger. I came back soaked, no more or less wise than when I left. You stared at me saying nothing, one streaming, the other steaming, as the sky crashed and waters flowed. |
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| Tell me that we did not share a fury with what comes close to those we care about? As if by acting and believing as two two have shared--as if, in wonder or terror, that belief were enough. |
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