Alpheus

 

 

A trained spotter,

I am. I saw the tornado

form over the river, nuanced

like the dying bird. First the grip,

the clearing throat of song and

noisy spins. Then the alphabet of

disorganized gone; a sunburst.

I pushed it with a forefinger to the

clearing (starting to smell) like the

armpits of young boys; how nature

pools up between the beaks of

daybreak. Mother did her thing

with the puzzle again. This time

the castle,

 

the slices of heart and forgiveness

carried brick by lonesome brick

from the top down, an old lady

trapeze act, twisting in her air of thorns.

Shadowing the rickety big-top. "I know

magic too", she will say, struggling to sleep.

We watch intently

with our candy-corn excuses,

 

just in case.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"disorganized gone" love the use of gone as a noun there.

so like life this poem is in its concept using tornadoes allegorically...
the last stanza reminded me of "places in the heart" and the woman telling the young boy that he needed to get into the car because the storm was coming---and luckily he didn't oblige.

what a joy to spend time on your page.

jacob

[Tree]

So subtle that ending, and the unexpected smile that came across my face. Seems to me old folk, animals, children, know the truth about the existence of magic. Everybody in between? Life's too real..

Very thought provoking, D