Snow and Flood (2017) by Jessica Escobar
First Snow of 2017
Not a shroud, but a chrysalis. Not a dead world, but a dreaming one. Subdued, but not silenced. Evening air as still as ice that a V of geese shatters. Crescent moon pale through a nimbus veil of chiffon. Frigid waters before fairy castles on a snowy bank, journeying, journeying, ever journeying through the night. Winter is the sleeping trees. Winter is the broken heart. Only playing dead. Waiting for the spring.
Flood of 2017
Eerie stillness. Where the constant whooshing whispers of cars would be, only the night, the raindrops, and me. And beyond the glistening emptiness, the rushing waters roaring, ripping through the landscape in fury and frenzy. Mud, trunks of trees, debris… What could stand in its way? Water, water lapping at the benches, about to spill onto the street like tears that the eyes can no longer contain. Bridge blocked off, a police car silently patrolling every hour. Curious onlookers and denizens come to witness, come to wonder when it would be time to evacuate. Night of terror, of deep sadness and solitude and solidarity, of suspense and humbling majesty. When a friend turns foe. When a lover betrays. When he no longer cares, and you, you still love him and write poetry about him. And I, I still love him. And more are the memories of sparkling dawns and ochre sunsets and rosy evening food trucks, the solitude of green walks with him alone by my side, his diamond lullaby and the trees along his banks, pink or white or orange with the blossoms of the seasons. More is love than fear. More is life than death. More is the eternal coursing journey than the transient flood of grief. More is the Truckee River to me.