The house is in dangerAs it is most nights,Tornado Temper is home againReady to tear peace by pieceTo this Wire Trap Mouth unhinges in frightThe little one hears in the room next to themVerbal crashing that bangs at the wallsShe hears the siren echo circling ‘roundAnd knows to quietly creep out her windowShe knows it’s time to take cover.She runs away from the storm,Fast enough to breathe just outsideThe shadow reach of choking cloudsBut still connected to screams made audibleBy every wind brought rain drop mudding her healsThe only solution is to keep runningClopping harder on fragmented asphaltRunning faster on flip-flops falling apart$1 slivers of plastic disintegrate from all-ready there holesWorn in far travels in small worldShe swears they finally come off and form wings like Hermes’Her destination is True-Mother who lives on the next block,Tree said to be older than the cityThe branch embrace she climbs to mimic hugsShe nuzzles down to sit where sturdy trunk meets mudCloses her eyes and prays“Make my fingers turn to roots,”She wished“Make myself become a tree,Make something hereThat I am anything but me”.She returns every eveningSneaking before it’s darkBefore she has no choice but to go backAnd can see the ants between the barkProtected in the cracks that open wound to soul. Poem by Tara Bartley Drawing by Janne Karlsson