← v13n1, Spring 2014
Poetry · Volume 13, Number 1

Molting

Easter weekend and I wake up beside not‐you.

No one knows how to dress for such weather.

Yesterday, I tried wool. Today, a parka.

Nothing warms my body.

I pray rebirth,

but mean second chance.

Every autumn a reinvention—

the allure of the semester system.

But it’s April and August’s fresh city

is all promise. This one’s still filled

with the places we didn’t go.