Spring

[busker]

Spring

Death is everywhere.
The running does no good.
A mother holds a baby to her breast,
in twenty years
he wraps his grown-up hands around her neck
and wrings it like a rag. He likes the way it feels
to feel the life exit her body, how she looks at him
with tenderness
that almost makes him stop.

Men exist to kill. We practice
every morning, kiss the only living thing we love
then put it in the ground. In Kansas,
there's a field of grain that stretches out so endlessly
you'd think the rain kept falling
even when the sun was out. Under every tree, a grave
no one will ever recognize
lifts up another daffodil
to have its head cut off.

These are some wonderful lines
But not held up by the rest of the poem.
The first bit about the mother being murdered has no context. Nature as mother? Maybe, but too overdone. Ain’t no blizzard looking at us tenderly while we die waiting for hot cocoa
It’s ok to have a tapestry but jt would be better served without some of the melodramatic lines.