I learned the myth of the mound was blowing away
from the TV's urgent plea.
Humidity transformed into a sickly, green hue.
I need to see what is coming, but the cedars block the view.
The rapidly increasing darkness and howl means the monster broke free.
Sirens rise to take a stand, join the fray.
Mom's at the store, dad's day at the Capitol just began.
Alone. . . across the street to join the neighbors downstairs.
Inflow yanks at my feet, begging me to slip, and my eyes have to know.
Looking backward, I keep moving forward...it follows...I might be too slow!
Bathed in different light -- the dying sun, exploding blue arcs, headlights in the air.
The door latches, then leaves, along with everything else of where I just ran.
I put this together after reading a point-of-view witness account of the F5 tornado that struck Topeka, KS in June 1966. A legend in Topeka held that the city was immune from tornadoes due to a large Indian burial mound on the southwest side of town. Bill Curtis was a reporter for a television station in Topeka at the time and implored viewers "For God's sake, take cover!" as the tornado moved into town.
A version of this poem with the pictures that serve as the basis for the stanzas can be found at: http://15038g62.blogspot.com/2011/12/myth-of-mound.html
