photo credit: BHD 2017


Lead curtains crest the broad horizon.
It feels like forever between here and there — 
siblings locked in immaturity — 
recollection of youth conjured by clouds.

Can I see my house from over here?
Dirt and gravel roads checkerboard
the corn fields in every direction.
A BB zips by my ear as I tear away on a two wheeler.

Only five minutes between father and mother,
the asshole, and the step-mother.
A short ride on this two wheeler.
Uncomfortable distance one compacted summer.

Years of staring at black skies
nervous of what might be prophesied. 
Weathermen instruct us on how to stay alive.
Why did I run to the car as the rain thrashed?

Long, single level, single family, two bathroom 
home on the flat plains of Indiana.
Sump pump kicks on as we prepare 
our makeshift fort at the correct corner of the basement.

Light erupts through the afternoon darkness.
Brave in this stoic affair. Catch my breath,
watching the window wells for signs of relief.
Speed up furies momentum.

Eternity stretched from here to there.
Mercy carried the storm to the next town.
Blaring sirens heard for miles, as the sun
cut through the remains of the passing front.

Aerial antennae laying in the back yard,
skeletal arms flayed out in tragedy.
Fear only struck once,
a thorn still hooked in my side.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.