P.T.S.D.

... nerves firing off one by one until
they all overamp: overloaded by
fear until the body shuts down
from sheer exhaustion. Desperately
wanting to confront the beast on its
own turf, but unable to get past the

memories of six tornadoes and a
roof gone over the years that have
left an indelible footprint on the
psyche. Screaming arguments
with loved ones who don't understand
the terror that comes in nightmare

and in each storm that may or may not
come -- it's in the forecast. Where
to go, where to hide?!? Underground
shelters not an option. Teeny tiny
claustrophobic sized half baths don't
count. Supercells with grapefruit

hail and twisters approaching from
the northwest galvanize feet to
action -- get a ride to the local
hospital to wait out the weather --
it's just another day of living with
Post Traumatic STORM Disorder --

(c) 2009, Karla Dorman

www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuvBVemIP1w

What a Mess

The clouds, stacked neatly
on the counter of sky. There
they sit, one on top of the other,

waiting for me to put them
away. I say, Not my turn; Mom
thunders, shivering them onto my

head. Whoops. Mom made a
mess. Wanna bet the next time
she uses the paper plates, instead?

(c) 2009, Karla Dorman

www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbz-xJEpTQ0