Poem by Luisa M. Giulianetti   •   Photo by Donna Vorreyer


You wake to the phone,
heavy with news.
Morning rain adagio
turns staccato on the rooftop.
Lush summer greens vanish,
leaving undressed maples,
paperbag brown.
The sky holds no promise of blue.
Let sorrow run
from your eyes,
soften your cheeks,
fill your mouth
with the language of grief.
Let memories unhinge--
black oak, heat lightening,
superhero worlds,
the basement door.
Brother, mother, home.
So many passings.
As the gravity of loss
pulls you to earth,
reach beyond the sheets
swaying on late autumn’s line.
She is there.  

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