After the storm, the farmhands found Dorothy in the road.
Bandaging the delirious girl’s head, bringing her home.
The stories she told.
Flying monkeys? Witches?
“Madness,” said the doctors.
She spent the next ten years in one hospital after another.
Always asking about her dog. “Where’s Toto?”
Long ago euthanized by the county.
Her aunt and uncle, crops ruined, lost the farm.
They went out to California, died in the desert.
After she was released, Dorothy would watch for storms.
Running into the winds.
Screaming. Laughing.
They never found her body.
Maybe she made it back to Oz after all?