Burnt Brown
As far as I can see, the trees brown beneath fall’s frost.
Mother’s skin is marred by age spots as death’s knell calls frost.
Forests once ripe with scarlet stars sicken, the air burns.
Once woods were purifying, now maples spurn the foul frost.
Bare branches rake a taciturn sky in coughing mist.
A tuberculin smog claims all in appalling frost.
Mother dear, earth-mother mine, rise-up, support mankind.
Forgive your children’s excesses, breathe … forestall frost.
Deborah cries for the loss of fair autumn’s pallet
Purple Sweetgum’s burnt crisp, ginger brown in caul of frost.
***
Photo by Aaron Mello on Unsplash
Deborah Guzzi is the author of The Hurricane available through Prolific Press. Her poetry appears in Allegro, Amethyst Review, Creative Writing Ink Competition, Shooter, & Foxglove Journal in the UK, also in Canada, Australia, Hong Kong, Singapore, New Zealand, Greece, Spain, France, India and in dozens in the USA. She’s the offspring of a Jewish patriarch from NY & a Protestant mother from Maine. She’s lived in Brooklyn, NY and in Lincolnville, Maine. Her family settled in a Catholic community in Connecticut. She felt outcast in all of these places. Her verses explore otherness.
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