Early Memory: 1972 Flood
Rusty Barnes

Water rises fast in the flood,
branches and woodchucks
floating like chum,
as a castrato in ancient
counterpoint lines out
a melody I feel in my tiny
bones heard from an ancient 78
my grandfather gave to me,
a song I cannot remember
but can recall with my torn breath
every time the ocean seethes now,
hurling sea-foam against break
and spray over onto Winthrop
Parkway and into my face
as I walk past, stunned by God,
and water.

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