FEBRUARY

by Rick Mullin





I read the news today O Lyle Mays
who died of an unspecified disease
not 70. Somewhere a piano plays,
electric resonance in mystic keys,
no chart imparted to the prima donnas.
It is middle February. Leap year, too.
No telling what an extra day might pack.
No swelling, terrors, cough or turning blue.
At this point there’s no point in turning back.
The third month of a new coronavirus
apparently designed to stay the course.
It’s only February, damn it. Long.
The neighbor’s kid has filed for divorce.
So much to do. So many can go wrong.
One judgment day too many is upon us.

Bosch: laatste oordeel

Rick Mullin's newest poetry collection is Lullaby and Wheel.

WHITHER WEATHER #4: CAROLINA SNOW

by Earl J. Wilcox

Image source: Outdoor Devil

 
We prefer crocuses
peeping their purple
heads from beneath
the brown mulch
beside yellow, muted
daffodils gazing bravely
toward our February feel
of a bright winter sun.


Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.

FEBRUARY

by Penelope Scambly Schott

Image source: Save the Children

The early robin plumps on a fence post
well ahead of the meadow larks –
I count one vote for spring.

My lonely neighbor left her lights on all night
and rose in frost to sweep her patio
clean of sunflower husks.

In a camp just beyond the Syrian border
most of the 75,000 shivering refugees
are under the age of four.

I remember completely being three years old –
how near my hands were to my elbows
and my fingers to my mouth.

Today, on this fragrant slice of warm toast
veined with cinnamon sugar,
the spread butter melts.

We all have our mouths wide open
and some of us sing.


Penelope Scambly Schott’s forthcoming book Lillie Was a Goddess, Lillie Was a Whore is a series of poems about prostitution.