New This Year

Among the many things that I never expected from New Orleans was flooding. Now, I know that might sound silly. Ok, might is wrong. It is silly. I am talking about that is built on a swamp, next to a river, and at one of the worst points in its history, approximately 90% covered with water.

Yes, I know that. But what I didn't expect was for my street to flood. I have lived here for a year now. I have lived in three different apartments in the same zip code, all less that a mile from each other. In the whole year that I have lived here, it never flooded. Until this fall.

I was born on a farm in Illinois. I know what to do in the event of a snow storm. You should always keep a flashflight and extra blankets in your car, your gas tank full, and your cell phone charged, just in case. I know how to get out of a curb that a snow plow has blocked me into, and I know how to drive on the snow (even if I do drive like a grandma in it).

But when it rains? I don't know what to do. I have never liked driving in the rain. But it isn't even the driving that is the problem. It's the flooding.

The first time it flooded, it was in September. Still warm. I drove to the grocery, without even thinking about it. I almost turned down a flooded street...but turned around when I felt the water lapping at the floorboard. I parked my car when I got home, and the water was high at the curb, but not bad. And minutes later, it was flooding. I ran out in galoshes to move my car, after calling my local friends in a panic. Galoshes and phone calls were useless. My friends just laughed at me and the water just poured over the top of the boots. Afterward we poured some wine and put on our swimsuits and stood out in the rain and sewage. Yes, friends, I didn't know it was sewage at the time. I thought it was run-off, and it was...in addition to the sewers backing up.

This time around, I knew to expect the flooding. I had weather updates being emailed to me from the weather channel. I was keeping an eye on the steady down pour and my poor 1998 Bonneville. I didn't need to move it, I thought, because I was about to go scoop ice cream at Brocato's. I had time. In less that five minutes, it went from being at the bottom of the rim on my tire, to the top. LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES. I threw on a jacket, galoshes (useless again, but it seemed like it would be a good idea), and threw my work clothes in a plastic bag. The streets were horrible- on Canal street, only one of the three lanes was useable in some places. There was no where to park once I got to Brocato's. For two hours, the rain came straight down, with a few rumblings of thunder. It was a long and lonely shift without customers. The customers we did have were only there because they were stranded in the city. Roads were shut down because of flooding.

And now it is raining again. It's been raining for the past four hours. Straight down and steady, making a gentle pattering with thunder that is lulling me into domestic activies such as baking and scrapbooking. No galoshes tonight: I parked my car on high ground when I got home.

i will pour it
all out.
and i will fill it
up again.

i will seek and i will
find. i will pilgramage
even when
i cannot walk
cannot carry even myself.
i will not even quit
when i think that i have.

After Imaginary

After (my favorite poem) Lisel Mueller's "Imaginary Paintings"

I. How I would paint the future

A bubble growing bigger and more threatening until
it explodes into now.

II. How I would paint happiness

A surprise that you made for me
on a day when I am lonely.
A letter in the mail on top of the
bills, an invitation; a slayer
of loneliness.

III. How I would paint death

A hole in the ground.
A pit. No light, no shadow.
Just an empty hole and hands
trying, trying
trying to climb.

IV. How I would paint love

I could not paint something I have
only touched. In darkness or

blindness, I have felt it;
Warm, fragile wild. But I have never

seen it, so I would paint with my eyes

closed, paint with my heart for a brush.

V. How I would paint the leap of faith

I would paint you falling
with your eyes closed.

VI. How I would paint the Big Lie

Suits and coats and warm handshakes.
Eyes that should be warm: dying, dead, and shutters
open. Mouths whispering.
Baking pies with vinegar,
stuffed with apologies
and a bitter taste of gossip.

VII. How I would paint nostalgia

Lake Michigan in September, an empty beach.
Holding hands and kissing and not knowing.
The sun in the half afternoon light; it is following
footprints, freezing shadows in the sand.