I never really thought a storm could break
apart our home, but after years of cracked
doorways, shifting floors, there’s no mistake:
that one disastrous wind swept in, compact
and pissed. It smashed our phony life to bits.
I wanted more than rainy days and long
walks into the fog. Your bitter fits
got worse. Empty bottles aren’t a strong
foundation. Too much sand, the mortar rots.
Then the storm’s rotation spawned a wind
we could not face together. All my knots
unraveled all at once. I cried, you grinned,
the devil slammed your truck upon the deck.
A pity roses bloom beneath the wreck.