Next Spring, Or, If February Wouldn’t Pass,

by Patricia Smith Ranzoni

Next Spring, Or,
If February Wouldn’t Pass,

we could pretend you haven’t gone.
That the phone will bring your sound soon.

If we don’t finish Christmas, leaving
the string of cards over the arch,
their cardinals won’t have flown either
nor their snowmen sunk.

If we don’t exchange last gifts,
the few we could do this time,
don’t toast with the brandied pear,
Christmas and you might still be here.  No?

If the red of hearts could stay, the tier
of Valentine sweets, and the miniature potted rose,
could February stay would you?

But the plant’s shiny-red wrap
spreads wings as if readying to go,
reflective of your long liftoff.

If February just wouldn’t pass. . . .

but the raccoons and minks
wouldn’t be courting through the snow,
coyotes and foxes singing their love,
sap rising in everything live.

                        You, not off
                        becoming your own next Spring.