We had a fight yesterday. It started with the normal flurry,
which snowballed into a blizzard; it’s January.
The cold began to set in. A few valentines went out and the arrow pierced.
Red hearts danced around the bruises with the unbridled innocence of Cupid. It must be February.
I longed for spring with the usual “I’m sorry.” He countered with a bitter March.
It was in like a lion and out like a lamb, and that lasted for a little while.
April showers left us soppy, wet, gasping. Almost drowning.
Can I save it with another I’m sorry?
The sun came out and he brought flowers. It must be
May, June, or July.
August left us to swelter, grumpy and ravenous. Hatred sprung from the lack of central air and communication. I’ll turn a fan on and blow out the boiling rebuttal.
The leaves started to change and the breeze blew a little colder.
The sweater weather of September left me lingering for a warm embrace.
October, November, and December leave me not wanting to remember. No warm embrace ever came and the cold shoulder grew to be a cold body, just a vessel. How I long for the sunshine.
Victoria Cybulski and is currently an undergraduate student at Rocky Mountain College majoring in Communications Studies and minoring in Creative Writing. She is from the small town of Custer, Montana where she found her passion for poetry while in high school.