My hands hung empty in space
Screaming and shouting for company,
A silent, open-mouthed noise
Only matched by my view out the window,
Empty dust in an ashen neighborhood
As the world whipped sideways before our eyes.
Yet somewhere nearby, another distress,
Not of the broken-hearted,
Not of the broken-bodied,
None of those,
Under the downpour of leaves
And electricity-singed air,
That live-wire cologne strong in the house,
The roof popped and lights shivered,
With every promising attempt the Big Bad Wolf made,
To blow our madhouse down.
Snapping crashing booming trunks,
Sauntering footsteps approaching our Welcome mat.
“The National Weather Service has issued a severe”
Worried mother with protective tendencies,
And a tear-soaked couch occupied by your sister.
“Stay away from windows”
And above all, be strong.
My atoms wrapped around that noise in that somewhere nearby
Aching for anything that might anchor us to the earth,
In this cardboard box, and read aloud,
Because Horton Heard A Who,
And a brother’s gotta do what a brother’s gotta do.
-Tyler Martin, 2015