Tornado Watch

Decided to keep going with writing poetry using the weekly Wednesday prompt at Poetic Asides. The theme for this week was "spring" which I guess leaves the field pretty wide open. Here's mine:

Tornado Watch

The sun leaks overhead through cracks, casting
odd shifting shadows. We obediently watch for
tornados, the air heavy with a damp promise.
(Which is worse, a watch or a warning? I can’t remember.)

Under clouds, piled up and turning purple like
a day-old bruise, we set out on a fast two-mile
walk through the neighborhood before dinner,
before the storm breaks, out and back like two yo-yos

thrown down and then yanked home. We talk
about our days, our work, the foolishness of
men. It was good to hear you laugh – your mother
weeks in the grave, your father barely a year. You’ve been at

the bottom of a lake stocked with grief, knees
pulled in, head down, holding your breath and
counting. Waiting at the surface, I think you’ve
finally pushed off to shoot back up for air. We’ve made the turn,

all downhill now, and a gust hits us hard from
behind, parting our hair like our mothers used
to for piggy tails, making our big t-shirts blow
full like sails. “Feels, good, doesn’t it?” I say. You smile, “Yes.”

I decide then not to tell you about my own mother –
the chest pains, the tests tomorrow, wondering if I
am starting down the path you’ve already trod. Not
for today, not for you to carry with me yet. We finish well, breath

coming quickly, sweat on our brows, hearts beating
fast – but steady. Back home, to our men, our girls, a
‘breakfast-supper’ of pancakes and bacon and biscuits.
“The storm missed us,” my husband says, kissing me. I pray he’s right.