TORNADOS: Thylias
Moss
Stroll down Tornado
Alley where it intersects Memory Lane.
Ramshacked house where my mother spent her childhood
Hiding from thunderstorms and rain in a dirtied room.
Neighbors yell to head for the cellar, take the flashlight.
Wind rattled the door my pawpaw made
From scrap lumber he found at the dump.
Those were the days when a moment’s
notice might be too late;
When neighbors looked out for one another.
I like it when I can read a draft and immediately seize my teeth into a line, in this case, lines. Right there, smack dab in the middle of a story about tornadoes and we have this mini-story of the grandfather, fashioning a door from scrap lumber--wonderful. Richard Hugo told us to launch away from out triggering subject and I think you did just that here, quite beautifully actually. In those two brief lines I get an idea of an innovative father-figure who is successfully protecting his family in a very subtle way, it's really great. That said, give me more. Allow this to branch off to the grandfather completely. Complicate him. Or commemorate him. Your choice.
ReplyDeleteNow, looking more closely at the work itself--the opening with the more is indeed interesting and could also be built upon. The idea of the home being the mother's childhood and the grandfather fastens parts to it or fixes it up, functions pretty well as an overall conceit. Because of this, I am not convinced of the neighbors' presence and I find the last line trite. I understand the urge to write about a caring community when these days it becomes less and less existent, but it seems done before. I am much more interested in this mother, pawpaw relationship.