our roof will also testify.

The tornado warning came
like an excuse
for the wind being too poor
to afford a lawyer
like the county sheriff
wanted the day off,
because he has control
of things like
storm warnings, right?

The packrat that lives
like a screw in my skull
remembers our ages
as something like
3, 6, and 7
but really,
we were not so much puppies anymore.

Micah was terrified
like a November wheat field.
I was waiting
to watch the wicked witch
thrust under our house
as though Spokane could become sensational
like every
fictional story I’d never written.
Even now,
Joel is still a pond,
only cleaner
and more polite to house-guests.

I was 12.
I don’t know if the trees
on my street
are maples
but I hope they are
because I live on Maple Street.

And like rain would have
made it worth it,
they all couldn’t
clutch their leaves tight enough
to completely deny my packrat
sustenance,
but honestly,
this is just a record
of sketches I could never draw,
things I don’t actually remember,
terrors Micah denies,
stories I am sure
were real, once.