spring creek

the hundred year flood
made me an island onto myself

reaching down inside
to retrieve a memory, or a sign
of how to survive

coming up empty

branches, then trees
dog houses, cars, swimming pools
sailing past my island

picking my guitar up off the floor
for when the water rushed in

what else could i do?

alone with the elements
cats looking to me for guidance
but i had none

we had to just wait it out
as the water rose

next morning, ice covered everything
tree roots now exposed

like arms reaching up from the earth
glistening ivory bones
having escaped their imprisonment

as i had escaped mine.