February thirteenth, in forty-eight,
I’ll never forget that perilous date.
I was a child who’d just turned ten,
It's as clear to me now as it was then.
On that Friday, 13th, there was no school.
Exceptions were sometimes made to the rule.
The city needed room for a meeting
Our gym provided adequate seating.
The whole week had been unseasonably warm.
My grandpa declared, “This could mean a storm.”
The blustering wind gave powerful gusts,
filling the gray sky with pine cones and dust.
Thrilled and excited to have a free day,
I got up early and went out to play.
I hopped on my bike and challenged the wind
Unable to fly, but I could pretend.
The elements took on an ominous glow.
The tree limbs trembled and swayed to and fro.
I felt excitement but didn’t feel fear,
but why this was true, to me wasn’t clear.
I biked to the home my grandparents owned.
"It is coming a storm." Aunt Eva moaned.
"You should come in. A tornado might hit.
We will be safer inside the storm pit."
My grandpa got out of bed with the flu,
to chase down his mule and his heifer too.
The animals were acting freaked out and weird,
aware there was something strange to be feared.
Grandma begged Grandpa to get back in bed.
He seemed inclined to ignore what she said.
It was lunch time and I needed to eat.
I pedaled back home, not far down the street.
My dad was due home a little past noon,
and I knew our lunch would be ready soon.
My mom was glad I was safe back inside.
The fear in her face, she couldn’t quite hide.
She finished cooking and turned off the heat,
but glancing outside, her heart skipped a beat.
The sky had turned a strange yellow glow.
A funnel had formed and was drooping low.
The door slammed shut with a resounding crash.
Mom tried to stay calm and not appear rash.
She told me, “Hurry! Get under the bed.”
Her tone let me know she meant what she said.
We’d barely settled between the two beds,
when windows exploded over our heads.
The noise we heard was a deafening roar,
and fire balls came rolling, crossing the floor.
The bedroom tilted and then broke apart.
A terror ran through me, chilling my heart.
My mom held on to my waist through it all.
Sucked up into space, we started to fall.
I closed my eyes tight because of the dirt.
I thought we might die, or be badly hurt.
My mom cried out that we needed to pray.
Our lives could easily end on this day.
We may have passed out for part of the time
I do remember we’d started to climb,
and Mother remembered us floating down,
but we weren’t aware of hitting the ground.
When it was over, believe it or not,
we sat upright in the one nailless spot
on a two by four beam sprinkled with nails
and rain coming down as if poured from pails.
We were amid complete devastation,
confused but kept safe through the duration.
Sloshing toward Grandpa's house over the hill,
we passed what remained of his old grist mill.
Cautiously, we called out as we drew near,
hoping they’d come and release us from fear.
Hearing us calling, they came to the door.
We had to crawl to get up to the floor.
Grandma was crying and very upset.
Rain poured inside, getting everything wet.
My aunt had managed to get into the pit,
but all survived when the tornado hit.
Meanwhile, my dad was out on the highway,
trying to get home, this horrible day.
Before he arrived, the storm crossed his path.
He only witnessed the cruel aftermath.
His home was destroyed; that much he could see,
but he feared the worst for my mom and me.
Adrenalin pumping, he'd had to drive
like mad to find out if we were alive.
He drove across rubbish blocking his way.
"No way, could he cross it," people still say.
Once he was hailed by a helpless old man,
but Dad couldn’t stop to give him a hand.
"I have got to see if my family's all right.
I'll send someone back to help with your plight."
He went on his way although he felt bad,
but family came first, t’was all that he had.
When his car stalled out, he got out and ran.
The sight he saw was too much for one man.
Not one thing remained of what we once had,
and one thing was sure; the outlook looked bad.
He ran here and yonder, shouting our name,
but felt it was hopeless, when nobody came.
Rubble was burning in spite of the rain.
Dousing the fire was an effort in vain.
He made his way up and over Gramp's hill
gasping for breath and calling out, still.
At last, Mom heard him and answered his call.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re not hurt at all.”
Mom wasn’t concerned we'd lost everything.
Because we were safe, she wanted to sing.
It was a miracle, we were all right.
She needed to touch and hold us all tight.
There were so many who died on that day.
Lives were altered in a negative way.
Dozens were injured while some clung to life,
but town people rallied to help those in strife.
With help from our neighbors, we started again.
We learned the way to depend on a friend.
A new house proved we had more than before.
There’s no way of knowing what lies in store.
A lot has happened to me since that day,
My memory hasn’t started to gray.
I will be grateful as long as I live,
for folks so willing to help and to give.
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