It is raining, raining, raining.
The sky is falling, falling, falling.
I never, never, never.
Saw this would happen, happen, happen.
As in any flooding, flooding, flooding.
The earth is breaking, breaking, breaking.
All the sorrow, sorrow, sorrow, kneeling.
Inside the loss and anger kindling.
Set forth the burning, burning, burning.
On this earthly star shining, shining, shining.
Then we lost our footing, footing, footing.
Again the falling, falling, falling.
Into a nightmare running, running, running.
On black horses riding, riding, riding.
Through darkness in the raining, raining, raining.
Then there we were standing, standing, standing.
On the grassy hump of dawning, dawning, dawning.
Over the mountains rainy, rainy, rainy.
The clouds leaned down to sing.
*from American poet, playwright, and musician Joy Harjo and her longer work, Cloud Runner. Harjo, of New Mexico, was US poet laureate from 2019 – 2022, the first Native American to hold that office; you can read more about her here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joy_Harjo I took over a public office – a leadership position – after flooding in 2011 caused by Hurricane Irene devastated my region and community. I dreamt of floods for a long time after that horrid day, when the rain kept falling, falling, falling, rising high enough to cover half of the stairs outside leading up my house, flooding my tiny basement, while simultaneously wiping out over 40 homes right down the road. It takes, as I was told by a FEMA officer at the time, at least a decade to recover from the devastation of a flood event; I can confirm that as 100% accurate. And, with a warming planet, flood events, tornados in previously tornado-free areas, wild fires burning hotter than ever, and heat waves that kill tens of thousands of humans all over, my nightmares might return. I didn’t sleep through the night for at least a year after Irene. What are we doing?! Not enough.