Mar 142012

by Lowell Jaeger


The bed sheets! Mom shrieked, bolted

and gashed her forehead halfway up

the cellar stairs when Dad grabbed

her by the ankle, yanked her back,

boot-heeling a hole in big brother’s upper lip

after he’d dashed up behind to defend Mom


while the rest of us huddled, storm sirens

screamed and out the narrow windows

above a twister tore from the sky

a torrential hail of debris, snapping

our climbing tree, toppling the clothesline

and ripping Mom’s load of whites from its pins.