Flood Tide

She remembers watching the Rancocas rise

that year Belle slammed ashore

tearing siding and roof tiles from beach houses.

 

She recalls how the Mullica churned, a brown

foaming roil, sandy banks too weak to staunch

its uncharacteristic force.

 

How current unleashed itself from sluggish

shallow creekbeds. How the deadfall dams

re-routed its familiar flow.

 

The pine barrens sucked down eight

inches of rain in three hours and jetties

moved, the pilings cracked.

 

Mushrooms materialized on wooden stoops

and stair treads, roads dissolved,

the lights went out.

 

She and her mother sat at the table,

her mom’s face flickering in candle flame,

her dad standing at the bay window.

 

Loud. That’s how she remembers that

storm. And her father, young then, she recalls

his anxious observation of the creek—

 

calculating the crest, reckoning

the cost of abandonment vs. the risks

of stubbornness, attendant to the rain.


Ann E. Michael lives in Pennsylvania’s Lehigh Valley, where for many years she ran the writing center at DeSales University. Her latest poetry collection (2024) is Abundance/Diminishment. Her work has been appearing online and in print for many decades in numerous journals, anthologies, chapbooks, and two previous collections. She maintains a long-running blog at www.annemichael.blog