the cellar was a friendly place

where my sister and i played on its gently rounded top

the door was heavy wood reinforced with iron straps

when the storms would come out of the west

grandmother would grab blankets, a lantern, my sister and me

then argue with her sister who sat at the kitchen table

her bible open under a burning lantern

waiting for god to come and take her

if it pleased him

she wasn’t going to be hiding in some damn cellar

grandmother herded us down the porch steps

across the side yard and heaved open the cellar door

revealing the narrow dark below

the smell remains with me still

a faint musty air of spider webs, canned goods and lanterns

one night the cellar was jammed full of neighbors

while tornadoes tore up land and houses around us

women and children were moved to the back

the men crowded the steps

holding the chained door closed

while the world outside roared and moaned

and rain slashed down like gravel thrown against the door

after the storm had passed and we had climbed the steps

i stood outside in the cool still night air

and understood peace for the first time

11/17/18 LV
Copyright Michael Douglas Scott