linda m crate

let me have mine

spring is not a solution

like you all believe,

it is a season;

 

just like this one—

 

it will not cure your broken heart

or grow over the thick brambles of

everything in your life you wish to

ignore,

 

so let me have this season of winter;

 

the breath of summer

breathes down a wretched warm

musk that boils my blood and makes me

uncomfortable—

 

let me burrow into a nest full of blankets,

your season will come;

 

let me have mine.

 

heal yourself

the solution to your

heartbreak

isn't spring,

 

no matter how many flowers

or baby animals or birdsongs nest

in your ears you will still be

shattered;

 

learn to take up sewing your

own heart with pieces of you that

can still be salvaged from the wreckage—

 

spring isn't the solution,

you are;

 

use your magic and heal yourself.

the beginning of my problems

spring never seemed

a solution to me,

pretty as she is with all

of her flowers and her sunlight;

beneath the shimmering breezes

of laughing foilage

 

i know summer will come—

 

was born in summer so i am well

versed in the nature of flames,

and the sun is too bright for me;

 

he can be deceptive with his light come

winter and spring making you believe

it's warm and in the summer he scorches me

with whispers of angry heat and i despise

him for it—

 

will always love swimming and boat rides,

but i won't pretend summer doesn't make me miserable;

 

spring isn't a solution it is only the beginning of my problems.