They Called it a Microburst, But I Know Better

Across town, the sky was falling.
While I settled in
for the long, windy night,
he laid beneath fallen trees —
a trauma compounded.

Everywhere, things were breaking —
foundations and forests —
and I wonder sometimes
if that was the moment
we broke as well.

The moment
all the cracks and shakes
finally       finally
split us apart.

These days,
in the forest where we
first and often met,
I can see our ruins —
mark the day of our beginning,
the warped rings of memory.
and in the wreckage of canopy,
our final silent fall.

Photo & Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift. .