When he was running outside, his Mom who is not his mom sat next to my chair and told me about his yesterday, how his father who never called, called and how the little boy played all four of his songs for him then and how afterward he didn't want his grandparents he wanted them and couldn't know couldn't find why they didn't come and never sat on his bed with him and why and why and why.
Through the window I saw him playing in the tree branches and felt this pain again.
When everyone was gone I went out in the sun, sat on my knees in the garden for half of an hour weeding and thinking, words standing still in my head: I had so much anger in my heart - the question of how it reconciles with a smile that's six years old.
Later I fed the hummingbirds. And then I played Joplin, and then I played a duet.
On the community crisis end of things
I don't like them much because they never wave.
The National Guard people things are sleeping at the high school down the road. It is so cool to see the black heavy trucks passing and the camo-clad saviours, everyone reckons.
Walls and sands.
What happened is the water grew. Really really. When John the Eldest was here for PaterFamilias Day I took him down to look and we saw the River from the road (on the road, over the road) from the tracks (reaching the tracks) and from the cemetery on the hill (safe place and untouchable). I have the pictures from then but then changes every day. I am OK with the rising. I am not OK. But I am close, somehow, to this.
Also when John was here he took his car and I took not my car and we raced each other down a highway I had been missing for a while, why, because we are crazy showoffs because we intend to die insanely funly not drown in the drowsy flood water. Or mostly because there is a long hard turn in the road about seven miles down and if you take it at an exact and certain breakneck speed, it feels just like floating.