The world will end in fire,
But first, there comes the flood.
A Melungeon girl, her face lit by moonlight,
Hands folded in prayer.
Prayer that is silenced, soon after,
By the soft whine of a porch splitting from the double wide,
Before the double wide itself uproots,
Carrying her off downstream on its tin roof.
Her screams are swallowed by the tempest—
Screams for a father buried long ago,
Screams for the law, whose hands are bound by the rushing tide,
Screams for Jesus, who remains deaf
To her cries over the roaring waters.
The world will end in fire,
But first, there comes the flood.
An elderly woman, once taught to fear the flames,
Now waits as winds tear at her shuttered home.
Mildew stains the walls,
The bricks wear their age like an apology
As the river comes for her, turning rust to blood,
Washing away the years she never asked to live.
She tried to make it to the car,
But the current was quicker than her feet.
She tried to swim,
But the strength to do so left her long ago.
She tried to cry out for help,
But the unyielding storm silenced her voice.
The world will end in fire,
But first, there comes the flood.
A boy too young to know of judgment,
Too young to understand the rush of the river
Until the house is drowned.
Mama’s arms, once steadfast,
Gripped the boy in desperation,
Wading through the waist-deep water.
The North Fork swallowed up the holler,
Until there was only an echo left.
The boy was too young to know how to hold on,
Too young to know to keep his head above the water,
Too young to know how to swim.
The world will end in fire,
But first, there comes the flood.
A town full of people counting all they’ve lost
Sorting through the rubble for what can be salvaged,
Taking the hand of any neighbor still left to hold.
Holding onto hope as it blooms through the cracks,
Innocently sowing seeds of subsistence.
Mending their ruined world with a patchwork of prayers.
Prayers for the river to finally rest,
Prayers for the mountains to hold strong,
Prayers for the sun to rise once again
Over those hills.
