Today is cold and grey—
snow needles my face. 
My friend has lost her son, 
cause of death hushed. 
Black limbs of maple 
and catalpa fork the sky. 
His mind spun magic, 
his hands transferred shape 
and hue to canvas. 
I pass an oak stretching
three stories upward— 
her boughs still cling 
to brown leaves. 
He slipped from the world 
on Christmas break. 
Scientists say oak trees 
hang onto their leaves 
to guard buds from frost 
and deer. I think 
sometimes it’s too hard 
to let go. 

 

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Cora McCann Liderbach is a poet from Cleveland, Ohio. Her work appears in Jackdaw Review; Gyroscope Review; One Art; Sheila-na-Gig Online; Quartet; Unbroken; and other journals and anthologies. She is a 2022 Best of the Net nominee. Finishing Line Press published her chapbook, “Throughline,” in  2024.