Enter Tornado, moving in fast;
the windows are shuttered;
golden hour is all but forgotten with the threat
of the house crumbling into dust
beneath the soles of a pair of polished Mary Janes;
a starched dress comes in and out of focus,
painted in the blurry colors of before;

Tornado enters like it always does,
pulling up trees by the roots and ripping power lines from the earth;
and then the circus came to town (without the red tents and caramel apples);
there is shouting and yelling and shuttering, always shuttering,
blinds yanked down and doors slammed in faces;
stop trying to make sense of it all.
it’s a play in reverse and you are the only one
who never bothered to learn the lines.

Exit Tornado, Tornado;
the door down the hall slams
one last time; the house is tipped on its axis,
lying in shambles at your feet; the only sound
is unnaturally cheery banjo music pouring in from two doors down.
all that’s left is music in the wind, battering against
the dollhouse. the calm after the storm,
the calm before the storm.
Tornado always comes back.
prepare the cellar, shutter the windows
one last time.