Wishes

When the radio announced a tornado warning
for a nearby county, I felt a little jealous, though
I knew to be grateful. Part of me wants
to drive to work in winds that make the car
dive back and forth and make the wheels
chirp. I want to work in winds so strong
they make the building rattle till you ears hurt.
I want to sit on the dock with a cup of tea
and watch the tornado yank up trees
until we see can feel our clothes lift
like kites. Then we’d rush back inside
and look for a safe place, wonder which
one of our shelters might hold up, wonder
if any of them might hold up. Surely
there’s one place in this building
that won’t fall hard enough to kill us.
That’s the moment I’d wish to God
the tornado was gone. But I knew
about that moment the whole time.
When I stood on my porch watching
the gray sky churn and flash, I knew
I’d hate it if it came. But I still
looked with my door open and watched.