Before VHS, DVR and DVDs, favorite movies were a once-a-year treat. Each December my mother looked forward to White Christmas. And even though it terrified me, I couldn’t wait for the annual screening of The Wizard of Oz.
Because of that movie, I have always lived in fear of tornadoes. They aren’t common in Connecticut, but they aren’t unheard of, either. On Tuesday, my area experienced at least four tornadoes and two microbursts. My family and home were unharmed, but many of my friends and neighbors weren’t as lucky. A poem about these powerful storms was the only logical choice this week. Thank you, Irene Latham, for having the perfect one on your blog!
The Tornado
By Irene Latham
The story comes grumbling
over the hill. It tumbles
hailstones and cracks tree-trunks.
It craves front-page news,
so it musters all speed
and muscle. It tears across
Main Street, steals shingles
and un-parks cars.
It whirls, whistles
screams and teems with twists
no one sees coming.
Read the rest of the poem here.
Please be sure to visit Rebecca Herzog at Sloth Reads for the Poetry Friday Roundup.
Reading to the Core 
When I was growing up, we’d have tornado drills in school. Who isn’t afraid of them after seeing the Wizard of Oz umpteen times? I’m glad you are safe and have no damage.
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I’m glad you’re okay, Catherine and sorry for any damage near. I have experienced those terrible storms from my Missouri growing up. They are truly scary. Irene’s poem shows them well, the ‘story (that) comes grumbling over the hill’.
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Living in FL, we have our share of hurricanes–but they don’t scare me too much. Mostly because we usually have a lot of time to prepare. Tornadoes, on the other hand, terrify me. You may know the conditions are right, but you never know where they’ll touch down or where they’ll go. I am glad that you are ok.
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Glad you and yours are safe. Those tornadoes are nothing to mess with. I love Irene’s poem.
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That’s scary so many tornados all at once, glad you are okay and very sorry for your friends. Thanks for sharing Irene’s moving poem, I love how her poem ends with,
“as a goldfinch gathers
thistle to rebuild its nest.”
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