A matter of water

We were all glad when
the rain came. Not quite
the violent tide, but some
remnant of the sea
for this hot interior. Days of
breathing in a useless earth.
And then the water, in one
sudden flood, enough
at least to overflow the river,
crack the old bridge in two,
push the floating debris down
a few miles:  a doll without arms,
plethora of plastics, spineless
bed frame. Water
was once the least of our worries.
Now you see, things have gotten
simpler: a matter of breath,
of liquids, or where you can
place a hand, put down
a foot.

- Miriam