"Will you leave me then?"
The leaves blew North

"After you fly?"
"After your documents?"
"After our children?"
"After my youth?"
"After my life?"
The leaves flickered in a circle

"When will it be?"
They quickened, spinning, filling the atmospheric pressure

"Please tell me when you do"
A hurricane ceaselessly swallowing all the forests surrounding its vision, carried the world with it, and the sun

All but still
Wheat wavering in the distance, shivering in anticipation
Animals hide away, tucked in the safety of hideaways, holes, and orifices
Humans crouch underground, waiting
Hours pass
A lone alarm shouts across the land
"This is an emergency. I repeat, an emergency warning"
So loud that those below, closer to hell than ever before, clutch their ears
For they are ringing from the vibrant sound waves stretching across the fields
A slight change in wind directions
A little bit of motion
Begins the devastation

A lone inverted triangle appears
Seemingly hovering, inches above the ground
Circling its prey, before it gorges itself
Endless cyclic motions, vacuuming everything in its path
Houses, barns, plants fly
Tugged from the attraction to the ground to the sky
Engulfed by the tornado
That winds down a path of destruction

On a whirlwind high
Drunk off of its power
Invoking pain for no reason, except that it can
Land ripped to shreds
Houses taken and tossed miles and miles away
Barns slingshotted across the American countryside
And the deaths
Oh the deaths

Those who thought they could wait it out
Survive again once more
Those who tried to chase the twister
Mesmerized by its hypnotic dance
Those who were in the wrong place at the wrong time
Oblivious to their preventable fate

When the humans emerged
From their underground bunker
They found a land left ruined
Wiped blank of human development
With that they shed tears
Watering the fertile lands
As the tornado wrecked havoc
It brought a rebirth
A chance to start again fresh

People talk about Tornado Alley,

The part of the U.S where I live.
They act like tornadoes touch down every week in May through October,
Like storms go through every other week.
Like everyone’s not scared and they’re always calm.

The truth is,
Tornado Alley’s not like that.

Tornado Alley is worrying
When a tornado touches down only five miles from your house,
Your family’s in the basement,
Wondering if everything’s all right,
And if your house will be damaged.

Tornado Alley is praying a storm will pass,
The ever-looming threat of a supercell,
Swirling clouds above your roof,
The sky a nasty green and purple.

Tornado Alley is taking everything you have for granted,
Then being scared when it’s threatened.

Tornado Alley is knowing tornadoes exist,
But being thankful that you’re not in San Francisco,
Or Hawaii, Florida, the coasts.

Tornado Alley is flat plains and wide open spaces,
Not being afraid of a storm,
But of what lurks when the beginning is over.

I:

In which
I

amid the
whirring lights

and emerald
felt

drift
through a

raucous
flashing casino

searching

for a
table

with an open
chair

so I can
finally start

to play
the game


II:

In which all of us
are together again at last

for a family gathering—
Thanksgiving supper, perhaps—

and, as we greet each other,
I happen to glance skyward,

unthinking,
and notice that clouds

of a turbid
cumulonimbus gray

are beginning to coalesce overhead.

I look up again and notice
that they have spun

into dozens of funnel shapes,
each of them

starting to reach down for us
like the ashen fingers of Death.

We huddle down in the cellar,
praying the storm will pass.

My anger rustles tree branches like fallen leaves,  
and I believe the wind can find a way to blow it all away,
like a tornado,  
spinning my emotions out of control,  
wherever they go,  
they'll move mountains and make streams,  
I believe the water will boil over with doubt and rage,  
crashing over the shores in waves,  and for days I believe in the truth of the storm,  
begging the skies for more,  
a single thundercloud with drops of jealousy so pure,
and thunder made from screams of outrage and misery,  
bolts of dreams,
crooked and lost at the seams,  
I believe in the calm,  
in the eye of the storm,  
that moment of happiness you'll never remember anymore,
and hail falls in a perfect form,
frozen and hard like my heart when the skies are clear,
I fear the clouds will disappear,  
along with everything I feel,
and when the sun shines,  
I can no longer heal,
the earthquake of despair rumbles though the ground,  
and the dirt moves like a whirlwind of truth,
light of fear starts shining through,  
frightening the leaves as they crumble to the earth,
they disperse in a tsunami of fury,
telling the story of the barren tree branches that were once my soul,
stealing the emotions and madness that had once made me whole