The River

The rain is coming down

cold grey bullets splatting and zinging off in every direction

it comes so fast it looks like the earth is spitting it upwards

back into the sky

the river will most likely flood again

it will open wide with a million hungry mouths, swallowing up the gravel road

I can see this from the picture window, nestled amongst blankets and pillows

I am reminded of the last time Tahsis flooded.

my mother came in with a big little girl grin and told us to come out and play.

she was careful to wrap us up tight; my sisters and I little gifts, bobbing up and down as we

sluiced about in Mother nature while her icy fingers laced around our knees

it’s a good thing it is November I think, and not September

for if it were, the pink bellied salmon, long dead from their journey up river,

would flow out to join us in our watery dance,

their gaping mouths silently singing of their sorrow