A Brief History of Fearing Sooner Weather
It came about first with maps and dictionaries. Men discovering the horses icebearded over with sin, when dancing was illegal. Someone rightfully mistook the snowbright dawn to be an epiphany and then entered the locked tavern. Another one decided to remember only the color blue. All over Chickasaw, Oklahoma, from the all-night-sex of constellations, a snow-song never played before seemed to be entering the scene.
Meteorologists with new year telescopes heard nothing of it. They telegraphed a northern woman to find the appropriate word between any new storm and another to stop the white monstrosities. She knew that a town not on the map places a certain responsibility on the elite ones from elsewhere.
She came by train. She set out with the forecast -- a snowflake, some breakfast, an adjective, before she swore death to all weather coming on schedule. She went with a dog into the Chickasaw, Oklahoma streets and waited fifteen minutes for the snow to change. It did, but no one believed her. They were so afraid of the prairie-snow they wrote her out of the farmer's almanac. They were so afraid of the snow and the truth. In the Sooner state, what was taught in school was not the truth -- the history book lies and those concerning the bedlining of clouds were one and the same thing.
Our New Folklore Lives
Listening to the dog radio down low out of Newport,
The common cold found Grandma a mess
My weather dog entered the room and kissed me,
When I asked Grandma if she liked
I knew then and there we had worn-out our
In our big coats and with our big dreams,
Earwitnesses to the Crime
When Yippie walked my snowniffy scarf to Florida
But did she listen?
I went into a fit of drinking water.
Now, inside that machine,
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