Letter from the Vineyard

The sky yellow with

Whipping wind, dust stinging my face.

We called this tornado weather

Back home.

When I was young,

Sat an evening

On the steps of the house

called home.

The sky like this.

The ruby lipped neighbor,

Our local harlot,

Drew deeply on her cigarette, looked up and

Declared tornado weather.

Sagely, mother nodded as father

Cupped his hands to light his own smoke.

Before dawn, tornadoes came

Ripping roofs north of us.

Nights like this,

They’re familiar, frightening.