We are holding our breath for the river to rise and swallow us

like it does the reeds in the afternoon pours,

for the wind to take our clothes off the line

and push harder as it comes back for us.
Newcomers have taped their windows

and filled the second refrigerator with milk and meat,

back-up generator ready.

The rest of us send a half prayer that work will be cancelled,

waiting for the e-mail or group message

to tell us our time is ours,

a brief respite only nature in its wrath can gift us.
We hope rain and lightning can change

the course of our lives; reset us to feeling the land,

filling it with our hopes for winter.
Collapse the tunnels for rare earth metals and phone bits,

all we want is modern medicine

and to feed our families

without filling them full of micro-plastics.