Edge of the Storm
I was a tree in the storm, bending but never breaking because if we could get through this one then we could fix this. But time has a habit of making even the strongest things fragile.
He left without saying goodbye, shouting at our father as he packed his bags
and I was once again a little girl watching her brother spiral out of control.
It’s been a couple of weeks but his memory haunts me each time
I see the grey-blue waters or hear the soft strum of a guitar.
Only a city away and yet it feels like the ground has split
and a cavern now yawns between us.
We are held together by a single thread tied around our fingers
They say things get better with time, but I’m scared this string is too frayed.
I used to imagine his anger as a tempest that would tire itself out eventually.
I was a tree in the storm, bending but never breaking
because if we could get through this one then we could fix this.
But time has a habit of making even the strongest things fragile.
And the day after the storm broke I felt like I would shatter into a million pieces
Maybe for the first time, I told him what it was really like to weather his tempest
Buffeted by winds so strong that I feared my roots would not hold me.
We talk sometimes but you haven’t visited.
I keep waiting for you to work through it like you always do
But if I’m not the one to make the first move, would you?
If I tell you that it hangs in the air like a storm cloud
A pressure that sits on our chests that gets heavier
We stood in the kitchen, mother and I, making up for lost time
And in my joy, I turned to share with him but found only empty air.
I was left with the afterimage of what we once had.
On a day when we were giving thanks, I found myself fumbling
It’s hard to feel grateful when half your family is in disrepair.
About the Creator
Ro
I wanted a place to share my poetry and short stories. I only hope that someone finds themselves in the words I have written.
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