Black water

I had crossed the pool, grabbing smooth black rock
Propelling myself to the shore, gliding through water
Each time more difficult than the last
But still I fought the current and made my way
I return to strangers
Standing in the shallows
Taking pictures
Pushing for a better view
A man had his pistol
Aiming to take shot
His wife overcome with passion,
Presses herself to him
I look away for a brief moment
Sharing a moment with my mother
We stand apart from the crowd
Looking down on the scene
A small lake rises into the sky
With butterflies of every color sipping from the water
All these beautiful insects floating on the dark mirror
Gently fanning their wings back and forth
A floating oasis steadily drifting ever upward

Tsunami

We were sitting around our Victorian house. Metal benches in the shade, peaceful ease amongst family. Then we knew a storm was brewing. I went to the basement doors and saw that furniture was already floating within. We went to the town center alongside the edge of where land met water. We walked hurriedly along the walkway, grasping metal rails.

I look out the side and see a wave rising over us, eclipsing the sky. The water rushes over us, but we don’t falter. I see another wave rising and know that they will not stop coming. Over and over, we are drenched, and I see others on the deck being pulled out to sea. I see my brother and his wife standing near us. I take his hand and we have a shared moment of helpless humor regarding the situation as we crookedly smile at each other. I see the wave coming toward us, and I know we are about to die.