Floods and Graves

And when the rain pours down 

and fills the pothole on the 

asphalt road,

so will my tears fill the

void in my heart.

It can't rain for days. It shouldn't.

I am scared of water;

I don't know how to swim.

And floods are 

synonymous with destruction.

But nature has plotted 

against me this time.

And so like a directionless log,

I am flowing with the water.

the torrential Adam's ale is

tearing down the house we built.

our Christmas tree that we had planned to

put up till the chilling days of February is

now soaked;

the television set has malfunctioned,

it only plays the old shows I had recorded,

this is just because water and electricity don't

go well together, right?

the warm blankets that smelled of

you and me 

are now just a drenched weight on

my chest.

Pails, pumps, and vacuum will 

make the asphalt road new again

but there is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed 

by band-aids or poetry or 

band aids as wide as the road.

I still don't know how to swim;

I am still afraid to drown.