The slow snowfall comes
suddenly, slamming the spring landscape
silently. Rabbits, brown for spring, try to return
to white.
Daffodils melt like butter into icy ground
and snowdrops are killed by their namesake.
Candy colored crocuses pinch up tight,
closing their gates against the onslaught.
Geese halt their 'V,"
flying back to Bermuda, Jamaica, wherever
it is that they disappear to.
The early escape, those too late roost in spiky trees.
On the sidewalks, elderly hips
snap like icicles and cars
fall into soft, cold coffins, while children
delight in their snowy games.
Seasonal Depression
A summer curtain cuts across fields
burning dandelions and children's skin
sending cows into mud, making the sky
a boiling broth.
Sun falls on skeletons,
birds seek shelter from
nature's hot fury, and church fans
ruffle hats on sweaty scalp.
The broth scalds and all of us
wish for darkness.
Ghosts rise from asphalt, burning us from
our feet to our eyes.
The sky bites our naked
necks and leaves its brand.
Each year the heat increases and we are forced
to retreat further into ourselves.
Bionote
Mike McClelland has lived on five different continents but now resides in Georgia with his husband and a menagerie of rescue dogs. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in publications such as Permafrost, ink&coda, Cactus Heart, The Daily Maverick, Campaign Magazine, The Flash Fiction Press, and has been anthologized by JMS Press and Beautiful Dreamer Press. He is the co-founder and co-editor of On the Veranda Literary Journal and serves on the staff of Arts & Letters and the Flannery O'Connor Review. Keep up with him at magicmikewrites.com.
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