April, Fooled

Had he called in summer,
she might have warmed at first
to the sound of his voice,
but would have accurately anticipated the after burn.

In fall,
she would have landed
both feet on the ground,
strong as an oak whose leaves have long vacated the premises.

In winter,
her heart deep in hibernation
resolve solid as ice,
she would have pulled her layers around her and dreamed on.

But here’s the thing:
he called in spring.

 

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