Every year the cherry tree is first
to break up with winter, quickly
dress itself in long, hot pink sleeves
of candy valentines whispering
Be Mine. Come See Me.
You’re Sweet. Don’t Break My Heart.
But of course it does, within days
a hard frost blackens them to stubble,
the tree taken back to its senses—
another dormant specimen, ordinary
as a mistake, a fling
so headlong while it lasted
you understand why
it happens again and again.
by Eric Nelson
Editor’s Note: Personification takes the stage in this poem to remind the reader that false spring loves to dash our hopes for festive warmth.