|Still drizzling. Gray religious gloom
seeps in through the window,
the dim lantern creaks on its hook.
I’m humming to myself, stirring lentil soup.
The ark fills with a homey aroma.I’ve preserved the doctrine of spices,
the commandments of barley and beans.
Noah said, “We’ll just catch fish.”
I smiled. And remembered to take
cucumber seeds, to plant,
in a new world, a garden.
There’s my sack of almonds,
here my dried figs and dates.
After all I was the one
who’d asked, “Sweetheart,
shouldn’t we be prepared?”And kept him awake with my dream
of salvation in a houseboat, plied
him with reasons, sulks,
his favorite honey cake.
And got what I wanted:
three stories of gopher wood –
a large ark is easier to keep clean.The animals we took on board?
My cow, “Patchy,” and his fancy doves;
two donkeys, two little black goats,
the family’s cats and dogs,
and the grandchildren’s pet turtle.
Legends grow. Legends grow into myths.