Black and white photo of horror in color
From a safe distance of many years
I luridly recall your details.
At the airport, I see your fearsome construction
I marvel at how it came together
And struggle to understand how and why, because
I couldn’t help then and I failed to help now.
Regret draws me closer.
Trespassing through a farm, stealing the earth
Late for work and malicious at birth
A hungry wind with a green sky calling card.
Darkening danger almost on top of us,
as dad watches from the garage
and we play in the front yard.
“Open the windows. . . get in the car!”
Only a few seconds to gain enough distance.
Our school, our home, our hands and voices
Couldn’t hold on or offer enough resistance
against the finger of God.
I couldn’t help then and what am I doing now?
Regret sweeps me away.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
Black and white photo of horror in color
From a safe distance of many years
I luridly recall your details.
At the airport, I see your fearsome construction
I marvel at how it came together
And struggle to understand how and why, because
I couldn’t help then and I failed to help now.
Regret draws me closer.
Trespassing through a farm, stealing the earth
Late for work and malicious at birth
A hungry wind with a green sky calling card.
Darkening danger almost on top of us,
as dad watches from the garage
and we play in the front yard.
“Open the windows. . . get in the car!”
Only a few seconds to gain enough distance.
Our school, our home, our hands and voices
Couldn’t hold on or offer enough resistance
against the finger of God.
I couldn’t help then and what am I doing now?
Regret sweeps me away.
F5 tornadoes are sometimes referred to as the "Finger of God". This emerged from research I did of the F5 tornado that struck Ruskin Heights (near Kansas City) in 1957. I usually write these based on images of those storms -- to see that version, go to http://15038g62.blogspot.com/2011/09/finger-of-god.html
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