In the kitchen, there is a storm on the horizon.
I can tell by the swing of the cabinet doors,
along with slurred chattering over the phone.
Exhaustion is all I feel,
having barely weathered the previous tornado.
Heavy footsteps pound down the hall
and my door knob swiftly twists open.
Chin up, I stare into the eye of the storm.
Winds of harsh words whip around me
as tears fall from my eyes like heavy rain.
The pressure dissipates as the storm takes it’s leave,
and once again I’m left alone to pick up the pieces.
