When Summer Ended

Storm window

Her somewhat purpose-driven life had been collaged
in snapshots, headshots, & group shots—
in publicity poses, private portraits, & random selfies;
in the stories she told about herself & about those who had known her
before she had lost her name upon marrying
& after she had found herself in Jesus’ name—
these stories to which she bore false witness of herself,
friendly witness to those who had righted her,
& hostile witness to those who had wronged her;
in the texts—
sober & slightly tipsy—
that she had sent to friends, enemies, & frenemies;
in the filtered & unfiltered social media posts & comments everyone saw;
in the footage that had captured this vain weather girl,
this false prophetess who wore rain boots on sunny days,
& this sometimes-misinformed meteorologist.
Her life had been cataloged in the memories others had of her—
from the barroom & the college of her twenties
to the breakroom & the church of her thirties.
And the patchwork life of Summer Storm
was pieced together after her mysterious disappearance—
when she could no longer defend herself—
becoming a legend only because,
like a hurricane,
she had done her damage & vanished.

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