A Love Life

On her southbound bus line,

the girl witnessed a crocus sprouting

from an old woman’s lap.

The woman’s face was a flat gray plate

tired of being gray.

Tired of life on the head of this woman

who was tired of her life.

But it had no choice.

A boy slept next to the girl some nights

to hoard the sweetness that even cats

climbed morning covers

to gather from her cheeks.

Lines grew from the corners of her eyes

as he wondered how to love her.

He ought to have known better.

Each morning, lying next to her,

he would feel the cold growth

in his chest,

wish for death, roll over—

but then she would wake up

and look at him

as though she would

always have enough in her small cheeks

for everyone.

It was not springtime,

but the crocuses came up early,

And the lines grew more beautiful

on the girl’s face

as the boy stole as much

sweetness as he could.

She should have known better.