exodus

There are no windows, only TV screens sequentially playing on gray walls. We waited and almost missed. The line growing and people with banjos, rucksacks all our possessions, we hurtle past mountains pocked with narrow houses leaning. Endless rain. I pull open the sliding door: a gray deck bucks on the flooded river. There are no guardrails, only our human compartment and then the deck, flat- gray, skimming the waves in the night.