tornado watch 1963
this, is where Grandma pointed.
A spot on the orange butterfly wallpaper
where Papa splattered; his Tip Top
cigarette papers and the tin
of his half full Prince Albert
crimp cut, the last thing he held.
“Their Gods ridiculous and themselves
past shame” Milton wrote. Because
as you grow older
spots on walls can transform themselves
like little children getting over the
measles. Is there any greater
scatter of chickens into their
wire house than wind? Longer this
time than normal but their little
thin asses taking position.
I’m grown now to compare the
diaphysis and epiphysis of all things:
The Blackened spirit that brings forth life.
The end of sorrow. How hippie and
with such impractical sadness the explanation
of the locomotive is. “This is where the
kitchen was. And in this spot, right here
next to the overturned cow, was where we
took our meals for 43 years”. Even in
the hollow dark, the sadness wore on.
By Dana Rushin
African American Poet,
living in Detroit.
Wayne State University student….current.
unmarried. still looking.