by Mary Chandler Philpott
What’s next is this:
cold and cold and more cold,
and February’s spindly arms,
and March’s house,
its tall and frozen pillars,
and deep echoes from its hollow chest.
I long for April.
Give me a simmer, give me rain.
It hurts to thaw.
It feels like cracking, like splitting apart.
I know this too.
(But what it really is:
We put a hand to the emptiness,
and our warm palms will it away.)
* * * * *
Mary Chandler Philpott is an MA student at the University of Virginia. She currently lives in Manassas with her fiancé Brandon and their puppy Edward Rochester.