When the Storm
Muddy water cascades down the Watchung Mountains, floods the basement full of family memories: Daddy’s photos from both the war and my parents’ wedding, albums of our first-steps, our first birthdays, family gatherings.
Drowned. While the paper buckles, we bail. Not soon enough, the water recedes to the brook. After the heaving, storage bins resurrected, we lay keepsakes in the backyard to dry in the sun. There are so many mosquitoes.
Santa Claus superimposed
on a campfire