means the giddy, awkward feeling

of walking home from dinner

in the still-daytime, puffy pink clouds

punctuating our periphery

a not-so-bitter-cold teasing of the new season.

 

Punxsutawney Phil did not see his shadow this year,

and so I hope to soon see smiling yellow

tête-à-têtes blooming blooming by the mailboxes,

like they did back then, in that March,

when our hands met each other for the first time,

and I wore the pink ballet skirt your mother loved,

and you showed me the stream where you and

your father used to walk,

before the schism, before adultery had ever

crossed your mind.

I could see you remembering as you showed me,

look, there used to be a rope swing here,

and we used to come to church sometimes on Sunday,

back when family was a happy word,

                                but

things are different now.

 

Things are different now.