Anneliese Brower
My Grandfather told stories
it was a footnote
Like it happened
Then passed
A noise in the wind
A breath on the breeze
Michigan doing what Michigan does
I didn’t listen
I was young
Tornadoes were nothing but bad dreams
They happened to others but not to us
I didn’t know it was the strongest one of that year
An EF5
The kind that turns neighborhoods into myths
The kind that sweeps towns with deep historic roots
off their foundations
It missed our land
My home, by less than a mile
The house wasn’t even a dream yet
But the ground and soil remembers
I remember him saying
Duck, and hide in the ditch
Leave the bikes
The sky became a weapon
The breeze became a roar
The radio emergency bulletin
And everywhere wind
Numbers can’t capture the scope
Bricks turned to dust in seconds
Those who lived and those who died caked in mud
No sirens
No time
No chance