There was, still is, a tree in my front yard.
It’s made of oak, I think, but I don’t care.
I just remember when it died for me.
It was when he said he was leaving.

He opened the red front door and I saw it.  
It didn’t shield me from the bright light like it was supposed to.
The leaves parted and the light was blinding.
When I finally adjusted, I knew that he was gone.  

I watched as he was protected by shade, bathed in filtered light. His steps crunched leaves
Beneath black shoes with a sound I used to love.
The tree escorted him to his car with an inviting path while
Its branches did nothing to stop him.

After that I couldn’t listen.
I couldn’t hear the breeze I once remembered.
I hit the tree to knock it down. My knuckles bled, my forearms burned.
It just stood and I wished that it would hit me back.  

Then, I saw the backyard tree.
Knowing it would never betray me while aiding a hasty exit.
It would never cast a comfortable shade on an unexpected ending.
Its branches would comfort me when I needed help.

I sat beneath the backyard tree and felt a breeze
I used to know. A breeze I once remembered.
I felt the breeze remember me and
Wished that I felt nothing.