One week in May, we wake 
each day to sirens. 

Branches shaking,
snapped. We aren’t lulled 

back to dreams by the wailing, 
the rhythmic pelting of hail. 

Take shelter, our phones tell us.
We descend to our underground 

havens as the heavens seek 
an axis around which to wheel. 

Clouds the color of slate 
steel themselves against 

the other, weaponless air.
The wind makes itself a drill bit 

spinning over still-green 
cornfields, and I wish a religion 

would whirl through my brain—
raze my sense that we deserve

the skies turning on us. 
Let me find mercy in this scene: 

the gods coveting a passageway 
from sky to ground—

a funnel-shaped tunnel to pull us 
through to another world.

We welcome reader letters. Email High Country News at editor@hcn.org or submit a letter to the editor. See our letters to the editor policy.

Spread the word. News organizations can pick-up quality news, essays and feature stories for free.

Creative Commons License

Republish our articles for free, online or in print, under a Creative Commons license.

Carolina Hotchandani is the author of The Book Eaters, the 2023 Perugia Press Prize winner. She is an Assistant Professor of English in Omaha, Nebraska.