Tornado Child

By Kwame Dawes

I am a tornado child.
I come like a swirl of black and darken up your day;
I whip it all into my womb, lift you and your things,
Carry you to where you've never been, and maybe,
If I feel good, I might bring you back, all warm and scared,
Heart humming wild like a bird after early sudden flight.

I am a tornado child.
I tremble at the elements. When thunder rolls my womb
Trembles, remembering the tweak of contractions
That tightened to a wail when my mother pushed me out
Into the black of tornado night.

I am a tornado child.
You can tell us from far, by the crazy of our hair;
Couldn't tame it if we tried. Even now I tie a bandanna
To silence the din of anarchy in these coir-thick plaits.

I am a tornado child.
Born in the whirl of clouds; the center crumbled,
Then I came. My lovers know the blast of my chaotic giving;
They tremble at the whip of my supple thighs;
You cross me at your peril, I swallow light
When the warm of anger lashes me into a spin,
The pine trees bend to me swept in my gyrations.

I am a tornado child.
When the spirit takes my head, I hurtle into the vacuum
Of white sheets billowing and paint a swirl of color,
Streaked with my many songs.