The Flood in One's Memory


I've been searching since I saw my mother cry. She held up her arms, pleading for an angel to swoop down and take us away. 

To be somewhere safe. 

The flood waters splashed my legs, surrounded her waist as she cuddled me close to her chest, then I was on shoulders. 

I've been searching since I heard the man yell for me to hang on tight to the tree branch. 

“Don't let go. Where are your parents?”

I've been searching since I pointed to the black water, plastic containers floated by, 

and nothing else.


Photo by Kathryn Archibald from Pexels


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