I wake
and I am alive
but the wine in my glass
from the night before
is dead

Underwood, Elizabeth

English

DigitalCommons@Bryant University

B RYA N T  L I T E R A RY  R E V I E W116The FloodELIZABETH UNDERWOODI wakeand I am alivebut the wine in my glassfrom the night beforeis dead.Lots of things are dying in the morning.Fragile things, like my marginal grasp on reality,the lace structure of a seasoned leaf,the color of your eyes.All are swept away and lost.Drowned, in this high season of storm.News Guy last night saidmaybe the prophets lied about the Flood,maybe the world will be destroyed a second timeby water, and not hellfire after all.It’s been nine weeks of water now,and a year without you.Loss saturates the hours.My mind will not move from deathand rebirth, death and rebirth.The Phoenix is taken down by water this time,then rises from the deep, drenched.This time, he begins just like we do—wearing a thin film of liquidat the beginning of life.117E L I Z A B E T H  U N D E RW O O DI can’t stop thinking of twigs broken,leaves torn from their bodies,insects swimming to their fate—and of dormant seeds bursting,incorrigible flowers budding,forgotten redwoods,drunk with a flash of vibrant green,and cavalier blades of grass,swashbuckling, with certain lifefrom all this water.News Guy today saysthere’s a man on the edgeof a very high bridge.He’s going to jump.Wants to meet his end at the waterline,but wants a priest before he goes.I say: hey, just jump.Out in the galaxy of my morning,there is nothing but death and renewal.Both are rampant and everywhere.Drowning and new life stitched togetherwith the thread of wet weeds—a brilliant reversible tapestry.I wakeand find myself wetwith the memory of a walkon the beachin this much rain.

The Flood

https://digitalcommons.bryant.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1859&amp;context=blr

The Flood

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