In Oklahoma, there are two seasons:
football season and tornado season.
Spring is tornado season.
Have you ever seen a tornado?
Imagine a big, beautiful beast
with two hundred mile per hour teeth
chewing up ground, houses, towns
and tossing ten ton trucks like toys.
Is that pride you hear in my voice when I tell you
that a twister can drive a piece of straw through a telephone pole?
Maybe a little.
See, I love these toil and trouble skies.
I love the green saturated stillness before a storm.
I love the warm/cold/warm crashing devil spin of air.
I love peering hard into a rain wrapped night
and knowing God is out there
walking and leaving prints on the prairie.
It doesn't scare me
When I travel out of state,
people invariably ask me,
"How can you live there?
Why do you stay?"
"Well," I always say
(to the hurricane survivor,
the smog soaked Angeleno,
the sardine stacked New Yorker)
"it's amazing what you can get used to
and come to see as just routine."
Know what I mean?
For Grace's prompt at Real Toads. Also submitted to Poetry Pantry.