I Keep Going Back To That Weekend
the west wind was blowing
dust plumes streamed off the ridge
like the smoke from a cold fire
you ran out to the sky, arms reaching up
and me with my legs
stumping along after like a useless gob
something reached down
it wasn't the twister, that came later
something leaned down from the stars
a ghostly phosphorescent arm
I could only see with my bad eye
it touched you and you were gone, it was gone
back up to its bright cold home in the sky
only then did the twister crest the hill
it lept the valley and I fell in the dirt
I laid there till dawn, but you did not return
so I keep going back to that weekend
but each time I do I forget
I forget until it's over what I have to do this time
and you are taken again and again