Rare Interview with the Tornado from The Wizard of Oz
The critics didn’t like me——said my acting was
sure, natural, but overall
disastrous.
I carried a house on my back
for miles, for 233 takes.
I was the one who got the girl to Oz
in the first place! What did the Tin Man do?
The lion? That rotten dog.
They cut the scene where I kissed Dorothy
on the forehead, very tender, very
grandmotherly, saying goodbye, promising
to put every piece of the farm
back in order.
Hollywood only wants a character
one-dimensional, easily digestible,
a simple storm.
I swear they destroy
more than me——just look at Judy,
or the actress who played the wicked witch
who was literally burned
in an accident on set.
But hey, worth it, right?
The big screen.
The lights.
A chance
to be remembered.
We, tornados, we too,
just want to leave our mark,
pretend, in the name of success, the cost
doesn’t matter.
Check In
If you want to be sobered,
if you’d like to be dragged
down from your own mind
& back into reality, go check in
at UCLA’s Center for Radiology.
Go sit next to the man
whose hat refuses to hide
his bulging brain.
When he asks what you’re in for
& you’re forced to say
your right ankle sometimes
hurts a little & you’d like to keep
playing co-ed rec soccer——
let that sink in.
You’re doing fine you silly kid,
the man in the hat
might say, or Just you wait.
or No one’s keeping score
when it comes to pain.
When the nurse calls your name
before his, try not to cringe
visibly. Try not to panic, when, later,
you can’t remember where
you parked your car in this giant,
concrete maze. It won’t be long
until you’re home, until you’re back
talking about stress like you’re
the only grown adult.
But for now, for this one, fleeting
hour——your hands on the wheel——
you keep the shame
close, you let it steer.
We’re Here
in Pittsburgh for Al & Len’s wedding. We’re here
because they’re queer & so are we & love
is stubborn. The two of them
walking down the aisle
together. Len’s magenta dress. Al’s
bedazzled armor.
Love, not shame, realizing I’m the straightest-dressed
person here, ballroom full of queers, full
of colors. Love in the huge paper lanterns
glowing from the ceiling. The red hearts
scattered on the tables carved with A + L
because love is not a tree, but a forest.
Candlelight for mood instead of shrouding.
Show tunes. Everybody singing,
everybody on the dance floor queer
or queer-loving. Love
is the room, like a wave, lifting Len & Al
up onto our shoulders, to the peak,
the lanterns above like
thought bubbles, shared
dreams——how in the world, how in the world
was this once unheard of? Then we hear it,
hear ourselves, as the orbs of light crack open
& it’s a downpour.
Grant Chemidlin is the author of In the Middle of a Better World (Central Avenue Poetry, 2026) and What We Lost in the Swamp (Central Avenue Poetry, 2023), a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award for Gay Poetry. His poems and essays can be found in Lit Hub, The Los Angeles Review, Quarterly West, and theAcademy of American Poets, among other publications. He lives and teaches in Los Angeles, and his favorite revenge story is the movie Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle [“I don’t take orders from a speaker-box anymore. I work for myself.” “Well, your boss sucks.”]
