Hell knows all hiding places.
Hell invented them.
That’s what makes it Hell.
When the rain comes, and it will,
the sand will not shelter your head.
There was something godly about it.
about the way everything starting to drip,
how all the good china started to run and
the animals became unusual.
People were pinning bed sheets to the sky
and coughing to hide the rumble.
The sky was painted biblical.
I dreamt there were waves
lapping at my bedroom window.
We, dry as a strong face
quietly watched the world rush by.
The flood pulled back into a beast
and lunged at our house –
we’re going to die, I thought
we’re going to be crushed and drowned –
but the walls didn’t quaver
and we held each other madly.
Once, I ran for the sky without learning to swim
and lost the air.
Now, I pull my socks up every morning
and give a hard stare to the mirror.
I survived. My family survived.
Everything unfinished died.
Did you do something you love today?
Imogen is a Bristolian poet and theatre-maker. She has worked with Bristol Old Vic and Cheltenham Literature Festival, and was named on Rife Magazine’s 24 Under 24 list in 2018 for her work in poetry. Becoming Noah is her debut pamphlet.
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