Winter - John Grey

Winter is the season when a father dies for no good reason.
Icy brown pummeled by sheets of white,
one frozen window eye is all it takes to take pity on the situation.

I am seeing the world thrust into the past and hating it.
So the snow stops. What of it?
It still feels as if the town, the neighborhood, the family, have been
stepped on.

For Winter is the season when a father dies for no good reason.
Sun’s more like a street lamp than a nuclear reactor
behind that that streak of aimless clouds

I am seeing the world thrust into the past and hating it.
The stripped bare trees. The solitary pines, their green
merely a reminder that it’s not green elsewhere.

Winter is the season when a father dies for no good reason.
And not this winter but one from long, long ago.
But winter fits so cruelly the pain we all must bear.

I am seeing the world thrust into the past and hating it.
January can’t wait to be last January and the one before that.
All is circular. Death comes round again

even though no one’s been living in the meantime.
It’s Winter. Fathers die for no good reason.
I am seeing the world thrust into the past and hating it.

John Grey is an Australian-born short story writer, poet, playwright, musician, and Providence RI resident since the late seventies. Has been published in numerous magazines including Weird Tales, Christian Science Monitor, Greensboro Poetry Review, Poem, Agni, Poet Lore and Journal Of The American Medical Association as well as the horror anthology “What Fears Become” and the science fiction anthology “Futuredaze.” Has had plays produced in Los Angeles and off-off Broadway in New York. Winner of Rhysling Award for short genre poetry in 1999.