On the night of the floods,
there was no warning,
just rivers up to bed sheets
people on roofs, reaching
for rescue, wet in the rain.
That night, on television,
we saw how this place,
often loved by sun,
called down so much water,
heard sirens muffled by its sound.
And for weeks after, children
slept on damp mold-packed
mattresses, or huddled
in living rooms of relatives.
Monday through Friday,
their teachers listened
to their worries
about everything wet,
as they tried to hold back tears
about all they lost to water.
First Published: Texas Poetry Calendar 2015