Flood Disarray

Amee Broumand

They wake when the clock tolls midnight—if it’s Christmas Eve,
they will speak

over the dreaming city

the river birds are fooled, stabbing
silvered cans of gold

and oak bones—

Tonight the ground ripples
with hints of fish that are not fish

Over window-ledges

the ground is a pond—twitching,
it changes the moon into a wrinkled woman,
her mouth breaking over stones

The sparks knit you up from inside, then everything stops

over the face of time

Quiet comes with the sleep
of the crows that haunt the pines—

© Amee Broumand

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Amee Broumand is an Iranian-American writer. Born near Los Angeles, she has moved from California to the Pacific Northwest twice over the course of her life (most recently from San Francisco to Portland, Oregon). She has a B.A. in English and Philosophy, a deep love for Shakespeare, Joyce, and Bach, and a fascination with photography, technology, and logic. She has written approximately 3,500 poems that have been gathering dust for years—she is finally starting to dust them off. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Clockwise Cat, Duende, and The Courtship of Winds.