He was only in us for the science.
I know as much as there is to know
about the inside of a tornado
(I’ve really seen what it can do),
but not enough to map the way
it thinks and take it down
from within—not without him.
I work—my work clothes
work. Bomber jacket on
because I’m at war.
I drink black coffee,
not lemonade. I never stop.
Why didn’t you pick me?
I ask him. Him and the twister.
Anna E. Fullmer lives in sunny Cleveland, Ohio. By day, she works at the library, slinging story times and songs about the ABCs. By night, she sings and plays okayish harmonica with her band, Self Taught No Lessons. She writes songs, poems, and to-do lists. She reads for Sledgehammer Lit.