Joanne Ben is a corporate writer and English professor. She has experience writing for various sectors including education, government, healthcare, and technology. Joanne loves the beach, cinema, volunteering, and writing. She lives in Florida, USA.
Desiccating branches, breaking, threat of wind
The earth collaging, blustering leaves
The sky a concoction, a bind of wind
Fall at lightening ¾a cleave of leaves.
Promising another Spring. The dimmed
watering wet solstice ¾Wintered, a peeve.
The vernal beginning intertwined.
Swerving into Summer ¾ the fluttering weave,
Of an acrid solstice, the seasons entwined.
The dilapidated chair held the imprint of my father,
Its worn wood carved from cherry, before his time.
The markings of a carpenter and his gather,
skills of a trade surpassing the pine.
Seated was my grandmother:
at the corner of her line.
A dwelling eroded by smother:
A place of contentment to pass time.
His gather: saying goodbye a bother.
Rising from the renovated pine:
His ascent, a pother
stronger than the cherry rind.
He saw her last her sepulcher,
She saw him last the pine.