floodwater 

in a world of meat & buckets
we tried to survive as half-finish fish.
"do not open the window," you said
after it had rained for 
eighteen years. 
we were the portal babies.
the cherubs painted without gills.
outside, everyone else had gone
primordial. wriggling with their
tendrils. the soup of heat
& burning angels. we had decided
to hold our evolution hostage.
become shut-ins. watch reruns 
until the words of the characters
slipped like butter from out mouths.
remote control batteries died. 
electricity turned to song.
staring at the black tv & still seeing
the episodes rolling as ghosts.
a knock on the front door came
each & every night. i was 
the tempted one. you said,
"go to sleep." i imagined 
opening the door & finding 
the world as it once never was.
green grass & yolky sun. 
peering out the window,
shipwrecks as far as the eye could see.
"what if it's this time," i'd always think
hoping for a utopia. of course,
i opened the door one night.
you had been tired
from running in circles.
dizzy, you fell into bed.
i knew it was my chance. 
yes yes yes, i touched the knob
like a forbidden fruit. turned it
& the water came like a fist.
flooded the whole downstairs
before i could shut it. i gasped
for air. i wept. i knew you would be
furious at me. i tried to find a way
to bailed the water out.
tried prayers & spoons. 
when you found out though you 
did not yell & you did not scream.
you said, "i was curious too"
about the knocking & the dream
of a fresh world. you kissed 
my forehead & helped me
out of the water & up
the stairs into dry blankets. 
outside the windows, i heard screaming
all night long. only in the morning
did it stop. ghost maybe
begging to come inside. they were so close.