Cleansing in Colorado
There is a cleansing–
Some might say of evil
in this muddy wash that careened
down the canyon;
a torrent that scoured homes and cars
down a liquid roadway of death.
Unstoppable. Uncontrollable.
Unbecoming of nature herself.
But–
There is a cleansing–
of which we cannot understand.
The hand of God played against
the hand of man. A futile gesture
to believe “we” can contain the unthinkable.
Now not much is left.
But–
There is a cleansing–
in places once deemed safe.
We were wrong or maybe
ignorant; respectful yet cavalier.
“It couldn’t happen again.
At least, not so soon.” Scars once healed
torn open anew; painful and deep.
But–
There is a cleansing–
As the sun finally parts
the clouds. Too much rain was days ago
yet still they cried their tears into the river
now swollen and brown. What must we endure
except that which we create in concert
or opposition? Only the earth truly understands and
seems not to care.
But–
There is a cleansing
of river and sky, of towns
and homes, of life and lives which
we may never comprehend–or
possibly don’t want to. Grief,
despair, anger, and loss; possibly without
ever moving beyond.
But–
There is a cleansing–
in anguish through time
that never heals, like a child’s tantrum
ignored, returned with vengeance on
anyone nearby. Now passed–
energy exhausted, but for it’s thunderous,
rolling destruction. Landscapes
forever changed, the shadows of history demolished.
But–
There is a cleansing–
of which I hope to never
witness again.
