You Leave in February
March arrives with its wind
and a profusion of blossoms,
the blood-rush of asphalt
shifting from slush to slick.
I pull back the curtains, hear
the hedge scream spring, each
branch newly straight, released
from the weight of winter ice.
This quiet wakes me like
the sudden stillness of a train
whose steady sway has lulled
its passengers to sleep.
It is time to slough off the dead
skin of remembering. Crocus
beds peep, tongues singing
in their soft purple mouths.
Twitter: @djvorreyer
Editor’s Note: This poem uses enjambment and imagery as allegory to gently suggest the emotional difficulty the narrator is experiencing as she tries to move past a loved one’s departure. The last three lines in particular push forward the idea of remembrance versus movement into the future.
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