Spring's Mourning

By Lynnette Horn

A freak ice storm hit us on the first day of spring. Glass-glazed buds toppled from trees. Wilted jonquils bent to the ground. And early songbirds hid in silence. I thought surely spring would miss us here.

We buried you in the graveyard at St. Timothy's Among a flock of black umbrellas. Ice pellets pummeled our opened silks, While clots of clay rained on your coffin. I thought surely spring would miss us here.

Seasons held at bay without your presence, My future destined for perpetual chill. How can there be beauty and bright skies when You left me empty and without solace? I thought surely spring would miss us here.

But the cold front left as quickly as it came, Driven out by sun's warmth. Our icy tombs thawed. Jonquils lifted downcast heads, and birds Trilled songs of hope from budded branches. How strange-- I thought surely spring would miss us here.

First published in Mid Rivers Review Spring '03 edition.