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
The Ace Hotel Notebook 