Spring Comes, and Then



Kaitlin LaMoine Martin

The lilies wilt as you count
the lumps in your belly.
One little, two little,
three little jelly
beans, no, golf balls,
no, baby fists. You feel
them shift at Zumba,
quick, what’s a four letter
word that unspells
doom? I wrote your eulogy
today, I’m sorry, it’s a nasty
habit, this gathering
of certainty like soap
to sponge. Too much
and the glass slips,
but it’s beautiful as it breaks,
see? Shards sharp as snapdragons,
sharp as stem cells, sharp
as the lime babysitting my gin
as I sit here, keeping you
in the present tense.