The last straw

As if she had marked it beforehand
and it was now out of her hands.

Fully grown.
A life of its own.

And as if
she knew
by the size and shape of it
the color and texture

rather than by any trait of his,
hers or theirs ....

that it was time to go.

She saw it one late and way too chilly afternoon:

The last straw
waving in the wind:

'dear heart it is time to go'.