“And I said, R.J., which is my older son, get up, son. And right when I said get up and I put my hands on him, the walls went, and he went. He just - he left. The tornado took him right then. I held onto what I have which is James Peter, and my wife held onto my other son, which I could hear her praying to my left. And I was praying over my boy, and I said -and I could see his little face (unintelligible) I could see him. He was looking up. I said it’s OK. It’s OK. And I was getting hit, you know? I was just shielding him. And my wife yells - she said: Do you have R.J.? I said no. I said I don’t. And then, I heard her get louder praying. And then, I started - I kept going, and I look up, and my oldest son come walking right through the rubble.”—Reginald Eppes, a survivor of the deadly tornado that has already claimed nearly 300 lives, tells NPR how his oldest son was pulled from their home by the tornado. His son survived and found his way back home with minimal injuries. Read full segment (via centerforinvestigativereporting)
“I am learning to abandon the world
before it can abandon me.
Already I have given up the moon
and snow, closing my shades
against the claims of white.
And the world has taken
my father, my friends.
I have given up melodic lines of hills,
moving to a flat, tuneless landscape.
And every night I give my body up
limb by limb, working upwards
across bone, towards the heart.
But morning comes with small
reprieves of coffee and birdsong.
A tree outside the window
which was simply shadow moments ago
takes back its branches twig
by leafy twig.
And as I take my body back
the sun lays its warm muzzle on my lap
as if to make amends.”—