KANSAS: FOUR POEMS (Click here to see a graphic of these poems) Prologue Kansas! I remember you. Your funnel-cloud, Like some angry child's Charcoal stick, Smudges my days, Asleep or awake, With random whorls, Blackens my heart's Once peaceful rooms With bold brush strokes, Blots its joy With grey-green smear Of clutching fear. I remember you, Kansas. Tornado Thirty seconds, half a minute, no more; A soundless crash, A silent shriek -- Like a groaning nail wrenched from seasoned oak, A simple act, And brief; One bite of an apple, A shudder, And the future's face forever alters. Thirty seconds -- too short for a mind to tell; Half a minute -- for a wind to rise, A world to change, A spirit to break, A soul to die; Thirty seconds, half a minute, no more. Tornado. June 8, 1974 Like a finger flicking an ash; Thoughtless as a bored child Who tears open an ant hill And watches for awhile The frenzied scurryings, Blocking an exit with a twig, Or sifting dirt into a hole, Abstractedly watching the struggle Against the engulfing dust Which alters a world's shape, Then walks away; So a tornado seems: Violently unintentioned, Battering and destroying, Without malice or plan, Leaving no one to blame For my fear. Aftermath The wind blew last night, Whistling around my windows, And rattling the glass. I woke up afraid, Trembling, heart racing, Groggy in half-sleep. Soon I remembered: This is Oregon, not Kansas: The winds are friendly here. When I slept again, I did not rest, but dreamed Of Kansas' whirling winds.