After the Tornado

I've been writing a poem-a-day this month, well almost every day, thanks to Kathy's poetry prompts that she shared for Poetry Month.  On Monday I wrote a poem called After the Tornado.  When I got up this morning and saw the news about the devastation across the southeast, I decided to go back and re-read my poem.  Here it is.


After the Tornado


i.
The wind is gentle today.
Like an apologetic lover he feels only regret over yesterday’s anger
He knows I didn’t deserve that unkindness but it can’t be undone

ii.
The wind is playful today.
He thinks it’s forgiven. Forgotten.
He’s naïve the way wind and rain must be.

iii.
The wind is warm and loving today.
He caresses me.
I want to trust him but something inside me holds me back.

iv.
The wind is rough today.
He tosses my lawn chairs around the yard.
When I look puzzled, he says, “Get over it. I’m going to do whatever I want here.”

v.
I try to leave wind behind.
He takes half the day off, then begins to follow me.
He laughs when I threaten to call the authorities.

vi.
All night I wonder, when is he going to haunt me again?
I can’t sleep and my stomach cramps.
In the morning I call in sick, but wind is whistling as he works.

vii.
I hear that wind has moved down south for a couple of days.
He’s a serial killer.
I don’t know how to warn my sisters.

viii.
I drive east and see the wind turbines using him.
I picture myself tall and powerful like them.
I know that I am twisted and broken.