Diluvian

We waited in the ark’s

cabin, barrels

on the deck to collect

the long-withheld

rain. We listened to it

as if for a heartbeat

at a dead man’s chest.

And, finally, they came.

I could not

see them, and Noah

told me they weren’t

there, they weren’t—

but I could hear

their fists against

the hull, nails

ravaging the wood

like animal claws

before we were

lifted, the first swell

like a dizzy spell

when one stands up

too quick. And then

the rush caught

the whole and we were

carried forward. Noah said

some had found a way

to hold on but he beat

their fingers with a spare

plank until they let

go. I stayed

below as I was

told, sick rising

up like suspicion.

I slept when I wasn’t

retching, my dreams

full of lions

savaging their cubs.