Every February’s a Hardship

It’s cold on brother’s birthday
and no different for father’s
a week later. He’s older.
The all-weathered version of
the younger carpenter, his son,
&mom’s pride and joy, whose skills
dad’s afraid now exceed his own.
But their hands are the same.
Mom always points this out.
Of the same mind. I surely forget
their sweet hearts. Try to bury
their cold parts. Deny their
selfish core, and the way
they whittle wood down to nothing.
Can we get through this hardship?
Come quickly, March. Let the rains
melt hard-packed snow. I believe
daffodils have a chance to come out
laughing from tough hard bulbs.

For Real Toads

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25 thoughts on “Every February’s a Hardship

  1. I very much like the way you have used the ‘February’ motif to describe human character, and you have done it so well. The optimism of the daffodils at the end is an excellent conclusion, allowing the reader some relief in knowing change is possible.

  2. hm. my older son and I are feb born. makes me think.

    also, agree with Coalblack, whichever her mantle – you are a fine poet ~

  3. This is such evocative work! Which maybe I’ve said before, because your work tends to come across this way. I have my own February difficulties (my parents, who died in difficult, dallying, painful ways) were both born in February. But this is about your voice’s month. Well, I can relate to anticipating March as well, because I optimistically wait for it. When the dog-days of winter (if there is such a thing) are done. The winter of our discontent. Yours. Mine. Whoever else. Mom’s comments about the hands are really telling. Thank you!

  4. This was kind of painful to read – I see so many selfish men, and yet they always seem to have someone to love them, hope the best for them – usually, more than they deserve. Sorry, I’m projecting my own family dynamics on your talented poem. OK, I’ll just say I loved it and love you and leave it at that. -Mosk

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