kentucky meat showers

never forget the sky delivers what it wants.
when i first learned about storks i used 
to fear a downpour of babies. what would
we do with them all? i had a brother the size
of a ham. he didn't fit anywhere.
one year hail as big as golf balls 
pummeled the city. there were parking lots of 
swiss cheese cars. broken windows & dents. 
i remember saving a piece of the storm. 
for years it vibrated in the fridge. shrunk.
returned to its haunting place in the sky.
i think i'd hoped it might bring me with it.
most days i don't know if i want to fall 
from a great height or be washed 
in a summer deluge. frogs have fallen from heaven 
still holding onto halos. in a museum i see
a jar of strange meat from the kentucky meat shower. 
all the scientist explanations sound impossible.
what is important is not why or how but 
understanding there is always another portal. 
great hunks of body spilling from the clouds.
the people covering their faces. blood & flesh.
the smell of rot. meat slapping against rock
& grass & roof. then, the horror of the after.
gazes out of windows at the small piles.
flies as the first witnesses & then the ants. 
they never learned for sure what kind
of meat it was. i think it was angels. 
a terrible mistake. i do not live in fear
of a meat shower. instead, i keep it in mind
as a possibility. keep a shovel in the trunk. 
a bundle of plague herbs in my pocket
to breathe in just in case. if i have 
the chance to fall though i have decided
i will come as overripe plums. i want to be
a sweet chaos. i could have been grapes 
but that would be too easy.