Spring

[wasellajam]

For me, I got nowhere until I re-noticed the title. The language and imagery are memorable, here's where I ended up after applying the title:

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.
Spring brings the cleaning up of last year's debris. The gardens, crops, lives, we devotedly cared for need to be ruthlessly removed to clear the way for a new phase. Even mature trees don't last forever.

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.

Does the poem need to be so blunt "Men exist to kill."? I'm still a bit lost one what the only thing we love is that we bury daily. Love the lopped daffodils, oh, there's spring.

I think the poem may depend too much on the title. If my reading is anywhere near where you were going a tweak could help.