Warm rain in winter,
and for days the streets
were all awash
in downtown Scranton,
gray snow melting,
sewers overwhelmed.
I went to school without
a hat, without
a thought of what
might follow: flood
or fright, unnatural
disasters. Hours
into dusk I drummed
my fingers on the desk
at school as windows
darkened and the glass
was streaked. My teacher
wept, I don’t know why.
I found my mother crying
in the kitchen. I do not
know why. Sometimes
the waters must give way,
the skies tear open,
barrels overflow
and gutters run.