By Paul Ilechko

So many of my memories

are tied to a specific season

perhaps as simple as a trip to the grocery store

unshakably linked to the coldness

of the weather as we walked from the car

the young maple trees already nude

or a late spring day at the hospital

a day of intermittent clouds and sun

an IV improperly inserted into a vein

clots of blood on the torn away dressing

an old man in the room next door

is unconscious

barely covered by his sheet

his naked legs exposed

his panic finally quietened

there are steps leading down to the wide river

that separates New Jersey from Pennsylvania

where a boat sits on the flickering flame of sunlit water

you will leave beneath the spreading flowers of spring

and arrive as the last leaves fall yellow

the ripples from your passage

taking such a long time to dissipate.

Paul Ilechko is a British American poet and occasional songwriter who lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ. His work has appeared in many journals, including The Bennington Review, The Night Heron Barks, deLuge, Stirring, and The Inflectionist Review. He has also published several chapbooks.