• Nolcha Fox

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

love.

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.

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