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Wisdom of the Infinite

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

The Differences

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

The Voice Lost In the Wires

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)





At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

More Poetry >>

In a Green Werewolf Sky

I recall
apple blossom snowflakes
filling a green werewolf sky.
Mother calling to me in the distance...
I know my name, but stubbornly don't reply.
Lightning flashes, crackles more near than far away...
A loud ripping sound as it tears the dark Lake Agassiz earth.
The afternoon more night than day.
I'm frozen, chubby hands grip white the handlebars of my
clunker bike.
The bike I cannot ride.
I look up, nearly teetering backwards...
apple blossoms coat my hair, get in my eyes.
Impossible green sky.
Improbable pea soup clouds
so large they crowded out the pages
of my child-like imagination,
blotting out the uneven horizon.
Suddenly the sky snarls,
and a banshee siren fills the air.
One block away Mother stands bent oddly,
her apron rising from her hips at right angles
billowing out from her Bermuda shorts.
Ringing the dinner bell,
her hand is at her mouth in a pantomime of a scream.
I can't hear her, but recognize fear in her posturing.
Putting one leg over my bike,
magically, I rise
my legs strong, balance sure...
a hurricane gust of wind pushing me home.
Years later, crouching again
in the SE corner of our basement
I tell Grandma Alta about how our neighbor's dog Shep
and his doghouse were taken high away to heaven.
And how,
the wind, so strong, had pulled the pin of his chain
right from the ground!
"Child," she says,
"that's how it is."
"The devil wind will grab you in its jaws and sometimes,
everything gets taken from you
but the memory itself."
"Back then we never had no warning in Tornado Alley."
As she spoke,
I listened intently to the storm outside talking,
rattling the thin-paned basement windows,
as pea soup clouds were flying above us once again
in a green werewolf sky.

Melissa A Howells/ Meloo from Tilt-a-World
Copyright all rights reserved April 15th 2011.
True stories. All courtesy of Tornado Alley.

In a Green Werewolf Sky



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