Racing the storm

Racing the Storm

                                              Jagged rage flicks overhead,
grumbles in primeval throat.
                                              Maddened cloaks of sea green
                                                         shroud tunnels of tall corn.
                                             Truck headlights skitter over
splintered cottonwood sentries.
You look back at rosy sunset,

then grind clutch,
spit gravel.

I wrote this short poem awhile ago, and it appeared in a lit magazine called Sliver of Stone, which is produced by students in the creative writing program at Florida International University in Miami, Florida.

At this time of year, I remember how quickly the clouds could turn that sickly shade of pea green in Iowa. How the wind would come up and then it got real still, and then how the hail would come down. And how my mother would stand outside and watch the sky as it bubbled and churned, especially if my father was still out working in the field.




3 thoughts on “Racing the storm

  1. Congratulations and well done Julia!

    I’ve survived one tornado during the few years I spent in the mid-west. I preferred dealing with California’s earthquakes. They were over almost as soon as they began and as close as I was to the fault, I never sustained much damage. A tornado, you wait, and wait…


    1. It’s came straight from a specific memory. The road behind us was blue skies and sun going down. The sky ahead of us was roiling like the sea that I now know so well.


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