how cruel of april? to barge in with anger in her chest,
and fists aching for a fight – before long, i am bruised,
swollen with wounds and there is no rebuttal. i've come
to the realization that i am owed this; before april dies
a watery death, the lilacs must be fertilized with blood
to ensure healthy roots before the last frost passes. you
shower the both of us with forehead kisses before you
leave in the morning – and i'll wake every night, close
to three a.m. with heart palpitations and heaving breath
as i realize what follows your absence – it’s not the searing
pain that will do me in, but the realization that there will
never be closure. april will start chest compressions as
needed, but the core of every breath will yearn for you,
and i do not know why. like most poets i want the pain
to subside and i do not know how. i've forgotten you so
many times, but you always manage to rise to the top of
all of my thoughts. i’ve failed to make a post-you world,
and instead pluck all the memories that blossom in the
fields. april knows this, it’s why she demands blood in
return, how else would may flower?
