When the Sirens Sounded

The wind is often pictured carrying feathers and leaves,

floating them like the only thing it is meant to do is

mesmerize us with its grace.

But Kansas has seen its houses lifted—

witnessed its cows twirl as easy as the coats of birds,

mourned the roots of its trees plucked from their place,

like all that time spent burying themselves in the ground

meant nothing,

nothing at all.


The day you left town without saying goodbye

I swore I heard the radio issue its siren-warning of the storm:
the wind would no longer bother

with our feathers andleaves.


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