A hurricane died
on the hills of the Ozarks
while I was asleep
in my old bedroom
at my parents’ house.

I woke to the sputtering
growl of a chainsaw
stalking around in the dark backyard
and froze
like in a horrible film
until I rolled up the will
to run out of the room.

Dad was on the couch.
I nudged him on the shoulder,
and he said we’d have to go
clear off the road
so he could leave for work.

We sloshed up our hill
with lamps and a chainsaw.
Dad cut the limbs.
They brushed like wet dove wings
as I heaped them up
on the side of the road.
Sap gloved my hands
and stuck on my socks.
It would hurt Mom’s head
to smell the pine so fresh.
A sunrise over the horse fields,
startled-pink like a newborn.

The woodpile in the forest
meant I was alone.
I kicked that night coverless
and dreamt of a cyclone,
terrible and black.
Gathering my limbs
like twigs toward a nest.

Lyrics submitted by Hegowski

Cyclone song meanings
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