It was an indian summer
when I knew you were gone.

It may have been the birds
that warned me as they took flight
northwest against the usual migration.

When the winds started, the cornfields
behind the chicken coop rustled and I
smiled and ran and ran towards
the yellow and green
thinking you had come home.

My bonnet fell and my braided hair
that I allowed only your eyes to see
cascaded down my neck
only to find it was
the sky falling.

A mighty fierce storm was
brewing and I knew the devil
was at hand so I called
out to our children and
we took cover underground.

The dogs followed.

When the rooster crowed, we knew
the storm had passed and at that
precise moment I finally accepted
and I never ever smiled again.

 

 

 

© Didi Menendez