Tornado
By Brenda Kim
Simple. Water vapor.
A combination of ice drop-
-lets and dust;
smaller than grains of flour so they
float because they can
in the air in a high energy state in
utter excitement, intensity rising,
every molecule shivers, anticipating
they’re waiting.
And collecting.
The wind is reversed,
the clouds no longer passive-
-ly pushed but taking the wind and
bending it to do the bidding of dust.
(they’re waiting.)
Hot breath from the Mexican Gulf meets
the cool, dry breeze from the north and
a courtship begins as
otherworldly winds
meet.
Every molecule’s
energy state heightened,
there must be jaguars hidden in the clouds because
they never fail to spit and scream
every single time
the molecules
jump and
light up the sky.
And that’s when the giant
ice chunks will fall,
and that’s when all hell will break loose,
as the gusts and the winds, and
the dust and the ice, and
the molecules and the lightning,
twirl and whirl, and sails
will furl and fold and
windows will shut, and
children will crouch, their
heads tucked into their knees, and
that’s when the weatherman will
warn folks to seek out their shelters as a couple
in Canada sit comfortably on their couch,
watching the wind whip the
frightened man’s face,
the winds and the
gusts, and the
ice and the
dust…
so many eyes
watch their glorious dance, their
thrilling and violent dance.
Only when destruction runs rampant across the land
with 200 mph winds ripping up foundations,
only when the deaths of lives occur, incur,
only when the funnel has evolved and the
landscape is red on the map.
Only then,
is the finger of God seen.
Stretched down,
digging, it’s
stretched down and
flipping cars and ripping foundations,
the jaguars screaming and
molecules jumping,
the sound of air bursting,
the terror of seeing it all and
the comfort of seeing it on a bright screen.
How do tornadoes stop?
How do mice fit through holes the size of a dime?
All we know is that at some point,
the music stops,
the partners bow,
and both withdraw back to their
opposite origins,
the parting is brief and somewhat
sad. A spectator feels that
the land is so much
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