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Rating: 5.0
It never occurred to me that I would see
the end of us come so suddenly:
a tornado roaring down the highway past
101 and Grand would be the final brand.
What fate played a hand in that phantom
presence, planted there, etching in your name?

Destiny could have chosen another soul,
unsteady, unworthy for the road ahead.
Instead, in a moment of dazed scotomata,
your gaze flew to the right. “No, ” I whimpered,
as I watched the wheels skid out of sight -
as I still do each and every night.
Chris Mendros 06 March 2007
Sounds like a great depiction of a harrowing event that just won't go away, won't leave you in peace. 'Scotomata', i love it!
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David Harris 26 February 2007
Alicia, this is a sad little poem that you have written here. The imagery stands out well as it normally does. I liked it very much. You drew me into this one. I could picture it as I read. Great poem. David
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