The storm began early

And she was dropped in the middle

Of the cyclone

Words, letters, twirling like Alpha-Bits cereal.

It’s raining milk and somehow

She has to bring it all together

She has to contain the storm inside the bowl

Taste it

See that it is palatable

Add sugar, spices, something

To make it good.

Until then she will blow

This way and that

Down the street like a drunkard

Sopping wet

Lost

Confused

Words are the anchor that gets her going

In a straight line

And at least for now

She is marked safe.