A wing trapped in dirt

I can’t stand that I’m here right now in front of my computer. I want to pout and hate myself and throw every awful thing I think about my work, life choices, creative abilities. My jacket smells mildewed, water-logged and dried. There are too many times I wash my clothes and leave them for days in the dark metal machine and then I’m haunted by lingering smells of laziness.
I’m out of shape and I know it. Physically and mentally. And a big part of me wants to sit in it and get fatter. I can’t fail if I don’t write. And maybe that’s what I’m really afraid of.
Sunday we went to the river property. We hadn’t seen it since the flood 6 months ago and I can tell you I wasn’t prepared for what we would find. In my mind the land was wiped clean, a blank page, brown earth, perhaps a newly tilled field. When water reaches such levels, I imagined it to be bath-like: sure full of residue and soap scum dirt, but drained all that stuff had to go somewhere.
Go somewhere it did. The deck is lodged on the highest branch of a tree. Syrup bottles, spices, clock faces, faucets – all littered as if a landfill emptied its pockets on our peaceful property. It was devastating. I was unprepared. I walked through all the rubble like a collector – picking up a small action figure in fully aquatic attire, putting him in my pocket and donning him our new river mascot – he survived at least. And then I found small records – 4. 3 black and one red, covered in mud patterns. I’ll make art out of them.
It was strange to see all the crap strewn everywhere. The crap of people’s lives: soggy clothes, a bong, half-full liquor bottles.
And who is going to clean all of this up? The natural gas companies helped haul off mobile homes, but left the rest. Insurance companies that approved flood plans renege their offers with DENIED notices. How can they do that? How can they get away with such things? They claim the trailer wasn’t properly tied down, but they took their money for years, inspected before approved. There weren’t any homes on that stretch of land that survived.
We were all quiet and inspecting. Walking to the muddy river, still high and not even blaming her. Who I want to blame is all the people: greedy and wasteful. Life is only about money anymore. And things.
All our shit strewn about. Nature may have caused the flood, but we’ve left the mess. It was almost as if nature was embarrassed by what we’ve left behind. It started snowing, flurries and quickly she covered herself with a pure white. She didn’t want us to see what we had done.

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