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The Flood by Lexie Slotterback
Before I was mythic,
I was water
pooling, rushing, taking—
washing over what they call Mesopotamia. Whether I came
from the Tigris or Euphrates, I
can not say. Only that I was nothing
until I Was.
Meaning comes,
horror and hope—
but not from the river’s mouth.
What can a flood promise?
Later,
when I have stripped
your town
to its bones
savaged
your neighbor
into seafoam
you will plant a vineyard—
rip the soil,
plant the vines,
crush sweet
scarlet grapes
until you can drink
finally
trying to forget
I live in your wine.
Bio
Lexie Slotterback is a poet obsessed with all things mythic, from the ancient to the family
mythologies we inherit. Her interest is in how this impacts us and where it sits—how deep in the
bones. She is a recipient of both the Bishop Kelleher Award and the Dennis A. McCarthy Award
through Boston College's English department. Her work can be found in The Laughing Medusa,
Stylus, and Ohanga.
Author's note
This poem is my attempt at personifying the biblical flood from the Book of Genesis. I’ve
always been intrigued by how we find meaning in tragedy. The survivors—in this case, Noah
and his ark companions—are the ones who live to tell the story. I thought it would be interesting
to see what the flood had to say about that. I was especially inspired by the biblical account that
Noah planted the first vineyard after the flood, eventually getting drunk on the wine it produced.
Perhaps rebuilding a broken world isn’t all covenants and rainbows—maybe the man was
haunted by floodwaters and seeking a means of forgetting.
