How a tornado didn't rip me off of my feet
I'll never know.
On the surface of a totally strange planet
standing by a bottomless pit
people all around, god knows who.

The hitherto kindly minister lady
began her magic words- shades of Clannad 
belting out their most spooky chant
far too loud. All of a sudden
this was real.

Having been thumped in the stomach
I was invited to take a pinch of sand
from a little wooden tray, how I imagine 
a church collection box might be;
held out on a saucepan handle.

Understanding an evil hour
cannot be put off indefinitely
I let my sand go over the chasm.
I turned quickly back for more
not ready to miss what might be my last chance.

Many hands came forward, dropped dust and flowers
into the newly sunk cleft in the earth.
And the hands of the clock, never still,
had me driven away, no matter where.

How do I reconcile that awful scene
with this little plot of land
we tend like seasoned gardeners.
They are not of the same world.

Here all is calm. I take sightings 
of robins and wrens and more than
an ordinary interest 
in tiny buds of low flowers.
You must know the tornado 
could yet carry me away at any time.