Windblown

Sijo

By Susan Zegarsky

We were poets, painters, always, in spite of coal dust, grease, laundry. Our creations

of word and wood and needle all swept away, only I remain against winds of grey autumn.

Poets, my family, lost, windblown, inconsequential as crumbled, dead leaves.

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Susan is a writer and visual artist who writes fiction and poetry in French, English, and Arabic. Her writing has been featured in Santa Clara Review, Hyacinth Review, Fahmidan, The Madrigal, Quail Bell Magazine, Grim & Gilded, The Rush, Moss Puppy Magazine, Chthonic Lit, Coffin Bell Journal, The Slake, Autumn Sky, Ink in Thirds, and additional literary journals with new work always forthcoming.

She is the author of  the upcoming novel, The Vuylk, and the poetry collections Thirsty Earth and Exsanguinarium. Her work can be found on her website www.zegarsky.com where she seasonally posts daily live poetry series and she is @ouisuzette on social media.