Cadaver dogs sniff through
the wreckage, muzzles close
to the ground. I'm glad,
they didn’t bay at the neighbor’s house,
maybe Harry and Ivy got away after all.
The insulation that kept me warm last winter
is scattered around like little gray lambs
no walls left standing, yet porcelain
fixtures and most of the plumbing still intact.
Spent the storm in the bathtub
with my eyes closed but when
the winds stopped all I could see
was the blue sky above.
The hounds baying,
revealed Mr. Davenport, trapped
in the ruble after two days.
He moved here after Katrina
lucky to survive another storm.
Maybe god still has other plans for him.
Clear skies with bright sun
sparkling off shards of glass.
I have to locate personal records.
Hope they're safe and maybe a keepsake
or two. I'm like an archaeologist
looking for my former life
buried beneath the ruins.
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