If you sense this piece has a different vibe, that’s because it does. It’s inspired by my mother who survived a flood when she was a young girl, amongst other things. Even though she inspired this verse, I think it really says a lot more about me.
Mud Lingers
The flood that happened years ago
is creeping memory’s stairs.
Trapped on the second floor,
I practice holding my breath
’cause I’m not going anywhere.
Rooftop says it’s raining on,
the rising river smells.
Father takes his belt off,
gouges a fresh hole
to tie me to the rails.
Landslides tore the valley,
gutted hill and holler.
Now when it pours
insecurity swirls;
I’m frightened of high waters.
The faucet’s icy spray
drenches my wrinkled fingers.
The rain is gone;
the past is drowned,
but the mud lingers.
© 2022 | K.Hartless
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
A haunting and powerful piece about how lingering trauma still sinks its claws deep. Beautifully written, K! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, I remember the stories of the flood and this photo in a book of my mother biting her nails on a rooftop, which has always stayed with me, even once removed from it. Thank you for this thoughtful and punny response. Much appreciated and needed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is wonderful, K! So haunting and in the moment. I really got a sense of how terrifying it must have been.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Worms. I know it had a lasting impact. My son dreams of flooding as well and worries the house will fill with water. Can we pass these things subconsciously, I wonder?
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have heard of such things – inherited trauma.
LikeLike
dramatic photos, haunting verse and that last line that lingers —
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, John. It’s eerie how trauma is never fully gone, but can rush over us if triggered.
LikeLiked by 1 person
so very true: I can vouch for that —
LikeLike
My mother lost both parents and a sister in a flood shortly after I was born (I’m almost 72). She still had freakouts whenever the weather got wild, right up until she passed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
How tragic, Ron. Sorry for your loss and hers. I think trauma definitely stains us in a way that is not able to be cleaned off.
LikeLike
Wow! What a nightmare.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes. My son now dreams of rising waters. He wakes and wants me to check the faucets. I that that fear he had may have trigged me to write about this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That kind of traumatic fear is hard to shake. I lost 5 family members to fire when I was a kid and remember having nightmares about fire for years.
LikeLike
I am glad that your mother survived the flood, K!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, John. So am I. She’s been able to spread a lot of sunshine since then to many people.
LikeLiked by 1 person
☺️😃
LikeLike
This beautiful write reminds me of trauma that persists inside of our deep programming, and how this trauma is passed down, knowingly and unknowingly, by those most influential to us during our childhood. A hauntingly powerful write, K.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, I think you really get me with this one. I see it in my son, this fear of water, and the inherent knowledge that it is powerful and dangerous. I appreciate you connecting with my poem. Very much so.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think I get it too, and see similar patterns in my boys. It’s always my complete pleasure.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Powerful words from a tragic event
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. This sort of tragedy is never really past.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ah, the detail of your Dad working with the leather of the belt to keep you safe. Terrifying nature at its worst. A memory of a time that is part of you so well shared. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I appreciate your comments. Yes, I remember reading this book about the flood many times as a little girl and the picture of my mother in it. Haunting truly. Thank you.
LikeLike
That mud never goes away… it sticks.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can see that now wallowing in it all. Ty for connecting, Simon.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Always a pleasure… I hope you’re keeping well 🙂
LikeLike
Great post. Powerful in many ways.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. It’s a ghost memory, I suppose. Im sure you see it. 💜
LikeLike