by Moira Linehan, from the chapbook Refuge:

In a Time of Floods and Virus

A watery squirm over rocks
along the path below the dam,
then the yellow stripe slips into
the thick of weeds and tall grasses.
Place of refuge, snaked with terror.

                             *

Last night’s news: one dam, a second
somewhere in Michigan gave way.
Streams flooded wide. Roofs floated by.
The overflow of this pond’s dam—
a polished wall, a willful rush.
For now, place of promise. Refuge.

                             *

From a distance it’s just a branch,
bronzed and fixed near the flushing dam.
Up close—thick sturdy wire. Golden
streaks twist through its branchings, branchings
raised like a dancer’s arms to stream
silk scarves, chiffon, above her head.
She, bolted in place. Now, I too.
Place of refuge, place of longing.

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