The Year of No Leaves
Mom called me. Frantic.
"My trees changed from green to
empty in just one day!"
"Mom," I argued, "perhaps the wind
blew away the leaves."
She insisted, "Not my trees."
I visited. Her sycamore was full of
splotchy yellows, green and brown leaves.
Her maple was a glorious torch of reds.
When Mom awoke she
refused to look out the window.
"The trees are bare."
Thinking her eyesight faulty,
I tried to take her outside
to see, even touch the colored leaves.
She refused, "I know those limbs are bare!"
It was then I realized that indeed
her trees were bereft of foliage,
her mind stripped of memory,
leaving all limbs bare.
(Previously Published, Righter Quarterly, Autumn Issue 2016)
Joan Leotta has been playing with words on page and stage since childhood. You can find her on the beach or online atwww.joanleotta.wordpress.com and Joan Leotta, Author and Story Performer on Facebook. Her poetry and essays appear or are forthcoming in Gnarled Oak, Red Wolf, A Quiet Courage, A-3 Review, Hobart Literary Review, Silver Birch, Postcard Poems and Prose among others Her first poetry chapbook, Languid Lusciousness with Lemon, will be out in March 2017 from Finishing Line.