15 August 2007 | Vol. 7, No. 2
Tornado
We huddled in the fallout beneath the house
like we'd done each time before.
My brother and me.
The bass droned long enough for him
to unbutton my jeans.
His hands felt better than mine ever had.
And though I couldn't see his face to know
anything for sure,
I bet his lazy eye would no longer be
his greatest shame.
The greater shifting was this side
the latch.
While others went up to see
what was left,
we stayed below,
holding hands like brothers sometimes do
when danger's come and gone
and you stand there together betting how long it'll take
for the rushing blackness to drop from sight
and leave you to wander this side
the wreckage.
About the author:
Kevin Simmonds is a writer and musician originally from New Orleans. His work has been in journals such as Callaloo, FIELD, Massachusetts Review, Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, and in the Cave Canem anthologies Gathering Ground and The Ringing Ear: Black Poets Lean South. He lives in San Francisco.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Kevin Simmonds at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 7, No. 2, where "Tornado" ran on August 15, 2007. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
