They don’t know
Leaping, squealing, delighting in the mud
between their toes, how
Downstream from us it swirled in a thick,
black surliness
Their heads turned away from me
and the panic in my eyes
They thrilled in the surprise of the mudslide
made perfect for play and pleasure
While, not far from us, the black-as-tar earth
consumed houses, poured through windows,
sweated through floorboards
Mommy! Mommy! They screamed
in play as my son threw a handful
at my daughter
They don’t know
and I can’t tell them
that the blue sky ahead is for all of us
When I know it is not
This is an ekphrasis poem (written off of visual art) that I wrote during the Iowa Summer Writer’s Festival.
Image: Nikki McClure, 2009, Chronicle Books
Teri McDowell Ott 