Fish out of water. The river is flooded.
Tornadoes tearing up the plain states
and the cats are fighting and yowling
between lightening strikes. Luckily
we live on a hill and the water
won't reach us, though the wind rattles
the house and shakes the spring birds
and budding leaves out of the not
quite awake magnolia tree. Weatherman
breaks into programing, apologizing
and telling us there's nothing to worry about
nothing at all. Last week,
they had the kids out of school
filling sand bags to hold back
the groaning and the spilling
of the Earth, the cracking and shifting
under trees without deep roots. Asian carp
jumping, breaking records over
the piles of sand bags along the river.
There is no accounting of time
and no reckoning of the river
and no point in waiting
for the magnolia tree to blossom
or for the wind to die down.
These things happen
on their own.