← v21n1, Spring 2022
Poetry · Volume 21, Number 1

For Who Spring Is No Laughing Matter

but the antiseptic to the wound

ashen and forsaken, bathing in the blazing

optimism of forsythia,

the gentleness of magnolia as if all

your past lovers are finding you to say

there is nothing to forgive.

When we emerge from the fear

that has kept us indoors

and hungry for touch

and click click clicking online,

we will be so busy

fucking every other cicada

we will make postcards

of our old skins,

hang them on the bumpers

of parked cars and patio armrests,

the sidewalk noisy

with all we have ripped off

to bare our new, pale skin.