When the Damn Burst
by Nolcha Fox
The church spire, a memory
marker to our town, surrounded
by a watery wasteland.
Bodies float, puffy clouds on
muddy water-sky, remember them.
See Saint Irene, who sprinkled holy water
on artificial flowers by the alter. God
loves fresh blossoms.
See Saint Tommy, who baptized his brother,
blasting him with the garden hose. Brotherly
See Saints Dan and Joan, hands
clasped, even in death.
Love is forever.
See Saint Joe, wrapped around
the spire. He forgot to leave when
the cemetery moved. Joe loves this town.
Chaos and the dead arising, God’s
love and blessings. Remember us.