Notes on Surviving a Tornado

Know the beats
Skip the tremors

Love you more than ever

What is it about letters

Remember his eyes
as she finished the fresco

Have you never felt this

Have you never
left anywhere ever

Letters post
first thing early

Take the hit
The empty-eyed
juncture on the map

She woke up feeling
a little bit better

stretched thinner
lost wider

touch of white

The street kicked her in the face
The wind poked her in the eye

in the brain
She hung a banner

and called herself clutch
and quit going out

She severed the lining
from the house

The house’s body

stitched itself up

What I’d have done probably
It made sense

She can’t let go
like two red shoes

Did you watch her rose

until she was home

I don’t know what to sign myself

The rapt pause
The feet sticking out

How the sunset
is tin for her

The dead match
The blue pencil

Unsure of her treasure
she embraced his black overcoat

Mannequin on top
tired in the face

I thought I felt your head on my shoulder
I used to sleep in your arms

Eleven times perhaps
under the house

Rachel Springer is a poet and statistician living in Portland, OR. Her recent work can be found in ILK, Cartridge Lit, Cloud Rodeo, and The Atlas Review. She is the author of two chapbooks, Hive Mind, out with Poor Claudia, and Summer of Tequila, forthcoming from Similar Peaks Press.

Images by Elfie Hintington courtesy of the L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah.

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