Napo 6: Noah's Nameless Daughter
What Noah Couldn’t Tame
Noah left the unicorn behind.
It was out there somewhere in the wilds,
And not alone, but what more could he do?
He’d tried to call it back. It wouldn’t listen.
No rope would slip around its neck. No bit.
No whip could break its spirit, just its skin.
And now this falling water from the sky
Wasn’t enough to scare it back to safety.
Some beasts prefer their freedom to their lives,
He guessed, though he could never understand
Such sentiment. He was a man. He had dominion
Over everything and everyone.
Except that unicorn. Except for her.
Soon, his wife would find out what and who
Were missing. Soon, her faith in him would snuff
like a flickering candle in the rain.
Soon grief would drown her heart worse than the storm.
He listened to her footsteps as she checked
Each stable, every cage, the beds they’d made.
She called the names of every animal,
Their three grown sons, and then their only daughter.
The sound of silence echoed through the ark.
If only she had listened, minded him,
Obeyed. But no, she ran into the woods,
alone, to find that wrecked beast, her horse,
the monster with a horn that only she
could tame. Together, they were lost in darkness.
Nothing he could do would bring them back.
He never spoke or wrote her name again.
She was rain and flood and wilderness.
Out there with her unicorn, the waves,
The drowning masses, Noah told himself
To keep his faith in miracles and daughters.
The water rose. He closed his eyes and prayed
She rode the waves like she would ride that beast,
Its rainbow but a promise they’d survive:
A fantasy, a whim, a myth, a dream.