missing spring

By Jennifer Jenkins

winter crushes
the promise of April;
a string of robins
shiver at my window,
heavy breasts huff
in the cold. a child

digs for spring
with burnt cheeks;
my hopeful tulips
depart. I have

tea to replace
your warmth, and
for breakfast,
a mouthful of words
I forgot to send

with you-
my tears offer the
poinsettia
the only relief it deserves
and I realize
the more we grow,
the lonelier

I become.

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