After the Crest

— Jeremy Michael Clark

            One of the spared, I’m left
                                                            to wonder: ​why me​.
                        I fashion a raft from remnants
of the life I’ve lost
                                    & drift
                                                through its waterlogged rooms. Below
the water’s indifferent face:
            cars, wardrobes, keepsakes, rocking chairs,

                                     a catfish swims
                                                            through a shattered window.

On the roof of their home, two girls
                        orphaned by flood.

                                                                        I don’t know what matters now.

            Huddled in the jacket my drowned
brother always wore, I lower
                        my cupped hand
                                                            into the water,

which seeps through my fingers
                                                                                    as I bring it to my lips.

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