These Waters Don’t Lie Still

Last night I dreamt of floodwaters,
deliberate clay rising to cover my feet.

Beside a railroad overspills a river, deep
with hunger for more land to conquer.

Swift water claims the tracks, climbing my ankles,
and my sister watches from the opposite bank.

Her mouth moves. I cannot understand the words
but her voice carries across the water like a promise.

Standing stuck in cold mud, rain slides
over the bumps of my spine to meet the flood

pushing against the backs of my knees. I cannot
move my feet against the current and still

my sister calls. Her arms stretch towards me.
Her hands are dry. I think the waters follow.