I was alone,
When the hurricane hit.
I didn’t evacuate.
I stayed in the house that was built around me,
Not wanting to let it tumble without me,
If it went down,
I would go down with it.
I stood on the back porch,
Letting the heavy rain of emotion wash away the painted exterior.
The hurricane took everything from me,
But I did not find blame in it.
It was an uncontrollable force of nature.
The fault was the house itself.
Not built to withstand anything but a gentle April shower,
Or a soft Autumn breeze.
The foundation cracked
Covered with a lovely sugar coat,
The window panes splintered,
But hidden by beautiful velvet drapes.
The shingles splayed out like missing teeth.
It was never meant to last an eternity.
A summer home,
Made for only a summer.
I sat on the banister,
Watching the rain pelt the house,
No mercy,
No end in sight.
The plaster on the walls cracked,
Snowing down onto the parlor furniture.
It was the pale horse of death,
The first sign of the bitter cold loneliness of winter.
Pieces of glass from a shattered mirror,
Littered the floor.
Swallow cheeks,
Hollow eyes.
Brittle bones,
Bald patches.
I was not meant to last.
I was alone,
When the hurricane hit.