Seeking shelter, a grandmother and the small girl lay
in the ditch, against the gentle, grass shoulder of the pond.
When she stood, blue hung in the sky where the tail of the tornado had torn air.
The farmer opposite started his tractor and raked another row.
The girl looked back at the pond, ran her eyes
over the still water and saw below the surface
a table and chairs set for a tea party for ten.
Waiting for her? Reserved previously? Set for the future?
Still, she could not decide. Hearing her grandmother’s soles
on the gravel, she followed behind her foot step in footstep, up the road.