I sit there, reticent as a rock
for years,
decades and more,
but one small earthquake and I’m nothing
but trouble.
You will never know how
I carried you,
supported you,
weathered
for you until I break,
I shake,
I wave your house down
to fragments.
You see your broken home and I exist
for you, a let-down,
break down,
dust that makes you
cough.
I settle and I’m dirt to you.
