The Connection
by John Grey

A sudden chill sets late April back.
Forest shudders, from winter memories
as much as cold.

Pollen floats, can find no likely surface.
Fresh ice nibbles on the pond's algae.

As dark creeps in, the throats of frogs
are stunned to muteness.
Thin clouds streak the stars.

I remember another year like this -
buds couldn't burst,
birds shied away from mating.
And someone died - someone close -
I connected the two.

In the barn,
the dogs are digging for the deepest hay.
Swallows huddle in the eaves.

The leaves are holding on at least.
And I tell myself,
it's just an aberration.
Tomorrow, the sun
secures the right design.
Spring keeps its word.
My mother's strength returns.
Everything thaws a second time.
Even the connection.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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