Thursday, April 30, 2026

A year ago today by John Doriot

April Yang

A year ago today

As I walk down my street

on a sunless day, the sky

full of silver gray, I can

see the trees in the woods

leaning on earth’s shoulders.

Their distant cousin Helene

was in an angry mood 

when she last visited them

in September, a year ago today.

Some of their brothers and

sisters were swept away

by Helene’s terrifying shrieks.

There are those who survived

who lay crippled but grip

the ground and remain alive. 

Now, as the season changes, 

the bent backs, the twisted

limbs are more noticeable, 

as their green foliage begins

to turn brown, falling down

to a ground, dry from drought. 

Their Mother never told them

life would be easy, but 

many still stand defiant, 

and beauty still abounds. 

There are gold hints within 

the woods, apricot hues, 

orange, amber, and red

shades begin to emerge. 

These colors, still vibrant, will

provide me encouragement, 

hope, and pleasure, even

though I now fear the 

wrath of their mother 

each time she displays anger. 


© John Doriot Enjoy more posts by John Doriot HERE.



John Doriot 

John Doriot is an award-winning author and poet. He has written 18 books and received eight Georgia Independent Author of the Year Awards from 2022 to 2026. These include best horror/thriller novel (Litter), best science fiction novel (The Cures), best short-story collection twice (Grimmer Folk Stories, Idioms), and best poetry collection (From Sorrow to Tomorrow, Slowly, I Grow). He was also a 2025 finalist for his poetry collection, Spiritual Roots, and a 2026 finalist for the suspense/thriller The Unsettled. He has contributed short stories and poems to many journals and magazines, such as Antipodean SF, Last Girls’ Club, Flash Fiction, MetaStellar, and The Solitude Diaries.

Follow Feed the Holy

No comments:

Post a Comment

Please be supportive and kind in your comments.

Featured Post

Cathedral Janitor by Arvilla Fee

Ralph Cathedral Janitor the only sound in the stained-glass stillness is the swish swish of my broom but this is what I love— the coolness...