Maid of the Mists

Retired,

I am a light sleeper, but

I doubt anyone could

sleep through the

three AM Thai rains

that drown out the drumming

on the roof as millions of drops

fall from four miles straight up

to roar like the devil’s own cataract.

No one but my six-year-old

granddaughter who sleeps

on the floor at the foot of our bed.

She has her hands over her head,

and her legs are in a dead man’s

dive as if she has just slipped

over the falls.

I want to save her,

to pick her up, but as my eyes

get accustomed to the dark

I see her comforter, her pillows,

her teddy bears. . . or maybe

it’s poetry that helps me get

a handle on things . . . and

I know that because she’s here

she’s already landed,

she’s already safe.

FG  10//14/2012

All rights reserved by the author Forrest Greenwood.

This is the week we evacuated Ayutthaya last year.  I think Thailand has been spared the flooding this year, but . . . .

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