I Blame Myself - NaPoWriMo Day 3

Prompt:  An Unfolding Story


I Blame Myself

I looked out our picture window
To see the neighbor's herd of Angus
Hurriedly flock toward the south
Like a murmuration of starlings
And right behind them
The tornado
And I screamed like a 14-year-old
Girl screams
When she's scared
And we all
Went to the basement
And listened as it howled
Past our farm.

We sat in the hallway of the
High school
With hundreds of other parents and little
Tap dancers and ballerinas as a fleet of tornadoes
Roared through our county
Disrupting Sarah's very first dance recital
And I shivered as Maggie sat on my lap
And on Clay's lap
And on my lap
And on Clay's lap
And screamed like a two-year-old
Girl screams
When she's scared
And a woman way down the hall
Died of a heart attack.

Super Duper Doppler Radar
Triggers our panic a full day ahead
Of the weather front
And blankets
And flashlights and snacks are
Hauled downstairs in
Anticipation and plans are altered
And appointments are cancelled
As we gather in the basement
In frightened fellowship but
There is no screaming because we are
Grown-ass mother and daughter who
Refuse to pass our panic on to those
Who are happy for this chance to
Poke around in Mimi's basement.

Sometimes still I wake up and
Think I am screaming at a tornado.