Simple Storm

The day my brother died he died in a storm that killed him when the wind cut my ears inside and left our wood frame house panting. Hot summer storm nights, seems like they're all. That Old Dog sat by the window where he sat scared too, because there was something in the world that felt like sleeping violence disturbed. I mean scared, too, like my brother not me. When she lived at home and was alive and could tell me things before she was gone and dead my ma used to tell me I'm not ever scared of the things I should be and that's not a compliment, but it was my brother who was out getting killed trying to make it with that Unitarian girl down that road and now who's gonna teach me how to drive?

They say the Grim Reaper gets up on you quiet like pulling your breath out, but that night with the rain and wind and bolts screaming shrill like the kind of voice that should be death so when I learned that my brother's life was done (found him stuck with the rake handle, blood dripped and stuck on the shaft and frozen dry dripping off the tines) I thought I hope I'll die just the same, show you God, I can listen when you speak to me.

Kara Weiss lives in Seattle, Washington where she attends the MFA program at the University of Washington. She is the 2008-2009 recipient of the Ingam Fellowship, and has been twice published in Word Riot. She is currently at work on her first book, a fictional account of young ex-patriots living in Saigon.

Email: Kara Weiss

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