tempest II --laura

TEMPEST II -- LAURA

I have a bad habit of imagining disasters that won’t ever happen, wasting time brewing up a storm for us to weather just for the chance to emerge at sunup holding hands, smiling, having proved ourselves impervious and deep-rooted.

I’ll admit I didn’t plan for an inland hurricane that struck as we slept apart, tearing through my plans like a trailer park. Without your laugh to chase it into hyperbole, the beating of branches against shaking window panes just sends me running to the bathtub.

I sit, shivering, waiting for the inevitable is it raining where you are? that tells me you’re watching the weather channel for me, that you feel everything tilt when our pine tree finally topples, heaved-up roots leaving an altar-sized hole outside the north window.

When I wake, hours later, blinking alone under an unexpected sunrise, there’s only the silence of a wind that’s blown itself out.

Phoebe Cragon Class of 2023