Oklahoma

I must turn the station
as a mother weeps
for her child.

The lost souls swept
unremittingly
in the blast.

My own woe bleats,
as Miranda’s sublime cry
bray’s out to the crowd.

“Mid-February,” and “only December”
slice into my quivering
disposition—
Miranda and Blake “remember.”

They remember Richie
just as I remember Brandon;
two brothers lost before their time.

Blake is only able to vocalize
one verse, with eyes shut:
“You went away.”

The victims anguish is conveyed,

(the one left to mourn):

It is not clear in his voice,
his strum of the guitar,
nor his words.

It is his intimacy,
and the internal grief
that proclaim his conviction—
and personify mine.

It is not just about a 24 year old young man,
or a 17 year-old boy.

This night,
it is sung for Oklahoma
and the lost children
of the tornado
that took Moore.

Miranda betrays the lyrics,
eyes shuttering
as she releases the words:
“when it’s so close to home.”

The “home” she sings for
is not just a geographic state—

It is also the pith of abandonment.

Maybe it is in the melody,
or the Southern twang:
it could be the simplicity in the lyrics,
or the memory that rests in Christmas day—
that make their voices feel like mine.

The truth, at the core—
the damage.

Unlike a passing tornado,
the fractured foundation
remains.