Poem: When the clouds cry

In memory of my grandmother

I remember 
my grandma's laugh,
and how joy 
spilled into tears
running down her face.

I wish I could talk to her
about the glimpses of blue 
dancing in the sky today.

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My paternal grandmother, Diva Casagrande, lived from 1939 to 2022.

When her time came, on October 22nd, 2022, I was on the other side of the Atlantic, unable to say a proper goodbye. Our last message on WhatsApp was us trying to arrange a video call that never happened. But I’m sure she knew the depth of my love for her.

She used to laugh until she cried when we shared jokes and stories. Then, with delicate fingers, she’d wipe the tears away and smooth the few dulling strands of hair on her face.

This image of her laughter, her voice telling me that everything would be alright, and all our conversations —about trivial things like the weather prediction or her girls' trip to Rio de Janeiro in her youth— will linger in my heart forever.

She was, among many things, a philanthropist, a life counselor, and a silent poet. Her poetry never left the pages of her personal journals.

The image above is a poem of hers, written on July 28th, 1952:

"Your sweet, divine eyes,
like moonbeams,
are two beautiful killers,
that kill me slowly."

I am forever grateful for the boundless wisdom she gave me so freely, and specially grateful for passing on to me the love of poetry—something I’ve only recently discovered within my soul.

Te amo pra sempre, vó. 🖤

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©Izabella Casagrande, 2025. | All Rights Reserved