When the water has receded
and the ground begins to dry,
they slowly return
to survey the scene.
One by one,
they tentatively reenter their homes,
their stores, their restaurants,
their ruins.

When the sky has cleared
and the cleanup has begun,
they slowly drag the debris that was
their life and livelihood
out into the light of day.
Their heartache, on display,
row upon row,
piled up high along the curbside,
spilling out into the streets.

When the dust begins to settle
on the long road to recovery,
they slowly scan the forecasts,
compulsively check the radar,
again and again.
Every cloud emoticon
is a tiny twinge of terror.
Every mention of rain
is a torrent of emotions.
Every single sprinkle,
a potential flood.