(Zahid Hussain/AP Photo)
The heavens burst, roaring down upon us
a river of rain, too much for the land to absorb.
We stood in the window and watched
the water rise, cover the street, creep
up the sides of cars. They kept driving,
in denial that they were now on a river,
no longer a road. Their red taillights
gleamed, then flashed. Car doors opened
and people climbed onto their roofs.
The heavens burst, and huge trees
started floating down laneways,
or falling onto cars, their roots
coming out of the ground,
sticking up, looking like the
wisdom teeth of the planet
had been pulled, without novocaine,
no mercy for those who don't hear
when the planet is speaking. It rained
like the apocalypse, like Noah's flood,
but nobody had built any arks.
The heavens burst, and 30 million new
climate refugees began to wade across Pakistan,
small bundles of all they had left lifted high
above water. Under the surface, how many bodies,
furry and not, lay lifeless? How far
will they walk to find a dry place to stop?
How long before the world sends them tents
so their new life, even worse than the old,
The heavens burst with a biblical roar
that felt like the world was ending.
When it stops, everything will be different,
including our hearts.
for Brendan at earthweal: An Atmospheric River Roars At Us