Not Yet Spring
By Billie Daddario
Bare trees stretch their dark arms up, scratching the pale blue sky.
The wind blows the falling snow sideways
and the cars pass by with their lights on.
Street lamps’ glow and glare.
The dry yellow brown grass wears a silver white dusting of ice.
The world waits with strong labor pains, groaning like a heart-broken lover
waiting for
Spring.