Flood

This one is kind of a weird version of a sonnet, istead of a rhyme scheme, I used antonym pairs it turned out a little weird but here it is:

 

Flood

 We sit criss-crossed on the finally dry

ground sifting through piled shoe boxes full
of warped photographs. My shirt is soaked
from your warm tears. My pockets are empty.
 
You are squinting at a slide, trying hard
to make out the chicken scratch numbers
smeared across the back. Your voice is so soft
I have to read your lips to know your words.

This is the room where I used to sleep

It’s become your closet without a light
We sit in it now, trying to stay awake
frantic hands reach at memories in the dark

You took them so that you would remember

Now the water will help you to forget.