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Cherry Blossoms in Winter
by David Slavin

She walks with woolen head
bent, burdened in her coat– 
along walls stagnant with marbled eddies
beneath a gray pavement of sky.

She hears no birdsong in the trees
the angered bursts of autumn,
the mute rancor of winter
have emptied them all.

Their loss is her loss,
their leaving, his leaving.
Their long, green summer
burned red, burned out.

The fall surprised her
with its sudden bite–
his eyes, once a blue invitation,
turned cold, hardened against her.

She stares past a thicket
of evening commuters–
laden trunks slump,
limb scrapes against limb.

Her lips tighten, shiver–her eyes,
glass pools that glisten then melt–
the chill, quiet against her cheeks,
goading them to petal.





 

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