Oak

She stood in the living room alone
watching through the picture window
as the storm rolled through town.
Arms crossed,
she stood, almost waiting
while the wind and rain tossed leaves,
trash, and debris against the glass.
Inside, the house she and her husband once shared
was completely still.
The blazing storm outside created
a hollow droning to the rain on the roof.

She knew it was her time
when the oak that rested in the yard
collapsed under the weight of the weather.
She watched
as the wind and rain beating on the yard
swept the fallen pieces across the street.
Her neighbor two houses down
drove over a branch that lay in her path.
The sound of broken wood,
though too far for her to hear from inside,
still snapped in her head,
a breaking that sounded too familiar.
One she was finally ready to never hear again.

She blamed the storm on herself.
It was as if all the clouds and breezes
she tried to surround herself with
were just a rain dance that caused a hurricane.
After he died,
she showered in smiles and laughs
to push through the pain.
But it never worked.
It just left her heart exhausted and bruised,
taking in happiness like a punch.

She knew it was her time
or the rain pounding on her roof
would cave in and consume her.
She thought, maybe the wind would just take her away.
Maybe she’d be lucky and that tree would be lifted
and shot right through the window.
Perhaps some god would reach down with lightning arms
and touch her chest to release the pain.

Sometimes, the end seems far easier
than passing the fork in the road.

The thing about storms, though,
is that they always end.
At some point, the sun will find its way
to light the darkness behind the veil.

But instead of waiting,
she went to bed, fully clothed.
It was 3PM.