Elegy on a Divorce

Stifling July.
Rain-bellied clouds build,
agitating the trees.
Their heads peer up at the sky,
expecting suddenness
and light.

The birds have silenced,
wings roofing their nests.
Here comes the whipcrack of lightning
setting off a car alarm.

The wind says, “Hush,”
against the house.
Someone is running for shelter.
Somewhere, a marriage is over.

The man’s wife leaving
strikes him as sudden.
If he will admit it to himself,
for miles off, he has heard
the thunder.

Plenty of time
to prepare.

I can hear the thunder now.
In the distance,
sirens are blaring.
The water oak groans at my window.

Together
the oak and I
wait for the inevitable.

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~ by ImaginaryCanary on July 29, 2015.

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