I can’t tell which is worse:
a fire or a flood.

at first, there doesn’t seem to be a difference;
you lose everything in both.
when you take a second look, the monster has grown.

the fire is insatiable. 
it devours what’s in sight. 
in the end, you have nothing to come back to. 
it’s not a choice you get to make.

the flood is curious. 
it touches everything within reach.
like a child, it grows and it grabs with grimy hands,
but something makes it put everything back.
we must choose what to lose. 

maybe I was right the first time.
the outcome will always be death:
a family home consumed by fire,
irreplaceable heirlooms covered in sewage,
and a gaping hole left where they should be. 

the politicians and the posts assure us that 
—whatever happens and wherever we are—
everything will be okay. 
they're right, but
it’ll never be the same.