Clouds weep on the
Windows adding their sorrow
to my unchecked sadness.
Sun tries to dry
sky’s tears, shine through
but fog shrouds sky,
effectively blocking
any warmth from penetrating
its thick, gauzy dampness.
Dark twig hands of leafless trees
offer no comfort of autumn color.
Tears washed away all their joy.
It seems only right that
Grandma died in November,
when all nature could mourn her.
Joan Leotta plays with words on page and stage. She performs tales featuring food, family, nature, and strong women. Her writings are in Snapdragon, Ekphrastic Review, Pinesong, The Sun, Brass Bell, Verse Visual, anti-heroin chic, Gargoyle, Silver Birch, Ovunquesiamo, Verse Virtual, Poetry in Plain Sight, Punk Noir, Yellow Mama, and others. She’s a 2021 Pushcart nominee, received Best of Micro Fiction, 2021 (Haunted Waters), nominee for Best of the Net, 2023, and 2022 runner up in Frost Foundation Poetry Competition. Her chapbook, Feathers on Stone, is coming in late 2022 from Main Street Rag. She is a member of the North Carolina Poetry Society, a member and area representative for North Carolina Writers Network and on the stage side of her work, member of, and as the coastal area representative for NC’s Tar Heel Tellers and coordinates Poetry Workshops/Readings online through her county Arts Council.
Image: Viet Anh, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
